Flesh and Blood
by JessReyes
Summary: Mulder and Scully are invited to London, England to help the Met investigate a series of murders that demonstrate striking similarities to one of their previous cases. Spoilers for 'Squeeze' and 'Tooms', as well as scattered references to multiple other episodes. Mulder/Scully...eventually
1. Chapter 1

This is something I wrote a long, long time ago. I did once submit it under an old account that was long since deleted...long story, very boring, I won't go into it. Suffice to say that writing for publishing is not half as rewarding as writing fanfic, so after a great deal of soul searching, I've decided to stop pursuing the elusive contract that was once promised and never materialised, and instead concentrate on doing something that doesn't make you totally feel like pants all the time :-D

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is a finished work, novel length, based around the 'Tooms' episodes. He was always one of my favourite characters, and I enjoyed exploring this AU kind of scenario. I'll try to post as regularly as I can around work, but if you're interested in reading more and would like quicker updates, you could always leave a quick review...;-) Thanks in hope! :-)

**_PROLOGUE_**

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

**MONDAY, FEB 15, 1999**

**5.15PM**

Blue - like the sky. Brilliant, clear, azure blue. Calling to him, willing him closer like a siren amongst the sea of grey.

_Closer, closer_.

He followed it, entering the train, merging with others trying to escape but it couldn't. Not from him. Not when he was so close. Every nerve in his body strained in anticipation, completely focused like a cobra's stare. He sat down behind it, could smell its metallic blood, almost taste its sweetness, see it coursing through its pulsing jugular. Yes, this was the one. But not here. Too crowded. Too many people. His urgent, all consuming need was greater than the fear of being caught. But he couldn't be caught. Could never survive. Could never fulfill the need. Would die. Not possible. Unthinkable. He was smarter than those who had caught The Other. He had the edge. Was beyond their reach, untouchable, disappeared. Like a scorpion beneath a stone. Waiting.

_ Waiting._

_ Waiting._

No one would dare stop him like the other was stopped. The other had been careless; he was far too smart for that.

Now was the time.

It started to move, he followed pushing through the ever-increasing waves of grey pushing him back, trying to alter his course. Daylight ahead. Blinding light. Dazzling, couldn't see. _Painful_, like a thousand knives stabbing at his retina. He pulled out his sunglasses and continued. He was hungry, so very hungry. He shuddered with the pain, sweat forming rivulets down his neck, peppering his forehead. He needed to strike soon. The need drove him on through the city towards the blue, brighter now than ever. It stopped, turned around.

'Can I help you?'

_ Calm, don't panic. Not yet._

'Yes, actually, could you tell me where the Chamber of Horrors is please?'

Each word was an effort, to stay focused, to stay calm. His hands trembled, and insects of tension crawled around beneath his skin.

'Go look for an information booth and stop following me. Bloody weirdo.'

He smiled. A predator's smile. A smile without humor. A smile for the damned.

He followed on, more cautiously. To its home, at last. Still too light, too many people. He would wait. He knew how to wait, be patient for a few more hours. He was used to that. It would be worth it. Around the back, through the trees. A shed. Open.

_ Perfect. _

_ Darkness_. Its velvet smooth, nurturing caress was welcomed like a lover's touch. No, that wasn't true. No one had ever loved him. Not in that way. Maybe a mother's touch. Nurturing. A refuge. He needed it, as much as the blood and the kill. Without it he was nothing. The house was in darkness too. Perfect, still, caressing, concealing darkness. The window was left open in the kitchen. Too easy. So simple. _Damn_. Not wide enough for him. Safety catch.

He smiled.

That wouldn't stop him.

He stared at his hand, ice white in the moon's milky light. Concentrated as he watched his muscles, sinews, nerves and bone move beneath his skin like millions of worms struggling for freedom. His fingers crunched as the bones distended, stretched. His sinews pulled his palm inward, elongating, crunching like gravel. He enjoyed the sensation. But he was weak, needed it soon.

His arm clicked out from the elbow, sinews writhing and pulling beneath his skin as it stretched. But no pain. Euphoria. Like sexual release. With his mutated arm and hand he reached inside to the catch and released it, pouring himself inside gracefully and smoothly as liquid, silent as the grave. _Silence_. He could smell the blood again. He was close. The sirens call again, stronger than before, but not lulling. His senses sharpened. He could hear it breathing as loudly as if it were in this room. Could feel its life-force_. Upstairs, quickly._

There. Surrounded by grey again, trying to hide, but there was no escaping now. Not from him. Not when the need was as great as this. He eased closer, closer. Good, sleeping. _Easier_.

Its mouth was open, its chest rising and falling. He smiled as he leaned in close with the needle and slid it into its arm. That would make it easier. Safer for him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the blade. As black as blood, as deadly as anthrax. He stared at its majesty, its power, glinting in the soft moonlight through partially closed drapes, controlled by a practiced hand as he pulled aside the bedclothes. _His goal._

The soft belly, rising and falling as it breathed its last. So hungry, sweating with need. The blade shook in his fingers as he controlled the tremors. Almost there. _Soon_. Must be careful. The blade kissed the skin, a trickle of blood, like electricity down his spine. Sweet blood. Deeper, deeper, through the soft flesh to his goal.

_ At last._

His prize.


	2. Chapter 2

**FBI HEADQUARTERS**

**THURSDAY, FEB 19, 1999**

**10.25 AM**

Scully sighed as once more she pulled her attention back to the flickering monitor in front of her and away from Mulder's empty chair. It was almost like a malevolent presence staring at her, daring her to deny its existence as she tried to concentrate on the background check on a Mr Benjamin Frazier that should only have taken forty minutes, tops. At present, the count was an hour and a half. She worried about Mulder, especially now they had been assigned away from the X-Files. Most mornings he was late. Sometimes he didn't bother coming in at all. The worst thing about it was that no-one seemed to care except her. They were trying to break him down, make him resign. They didn't have the guts to fire him outright, even though, by her own admission, they had numerous reasons for doing so; they would rather see him suffer for...God only knows why. Only two months ago Scully had been assigned to another case in New York without him. A case that had all the makings of an X-File. It had most likely been a move calculated to make a statement to Mulder.

_ Look, Scully can be taken away from you any time, so you'd better watch your step. She'll move on while you rot here and no-one will care if you don't start walking the road our way_.

She could only imagine what he must have really been feeling as he watched her walk away from him with Agent Peyton Ritter.

'_They're trying to split us up, Scully_,' he had said, deep hurt and something else indefinable swimming in his eyes.

Why the hell were they doing this? It didn't make sense. And now they were using her to hurt him. There was no way she would allow them to do that again, even if she spent the rest of her life doing background checks and stakeouts. Never again would she be accepting any assignment designed purely to make statements to him. Mulder meant more to her than that.

'Off with the aliens again, Mrs Spooky?' Spender smirked, the young agent who had recently taken over where Mulder had left off on the X-Files. He was a little shorter than Mulder, with brown, curly hair, cut short. Prim. Just like a good, brown-nosing, ladder climbing bureaucrat should. They couldn't have chosen anyone better; someone who treated the work with utter disdain and who hated Mulder with a passion. Her consolation was that the feeling was entirely mutual.

'You're a funny man, Agent Spender.' She turned away from him and continued typing.

'Agent Mulder not here again? He wants to be careful; he's going to get himself fired.'

'I'm sure he appreciates your concern.'

He shrugged, swiveled Mulder's chair around from his desk in front of her and straddled it.

'You spend way too much time worrying about that guy, you know.' He lowered his voice in an effort to show fervor where there was none. It was pathetic to hear. 'He's a lost cause. He's going down and he's taking you with him.'

'I don't recall asking for your advice, Agent Spender.'

His dark eyes were flinty, his brow furrowed. 'I don't understand your hostility toward me, Scully. The only reason you're in this shithole is because of your poor excuse for a partner and his contempt for following rules. You have any idea where he is right now?'

She allowed her gaze to remain on him for a second before deciding not to give him the satisfaction and returned to her typing.

'Well let me enlighten you. He's at the practice range. Been there since early this morning while his in-tray is building up into quite a backlog.'

Scully raised an eyebrow but never looked up. 'I suppose he told you that personally, did he? Or do you have so little else to do to squander Bureau resources that you feel the need to keep tabs on your colleagues?'

He studied her carefully. His scrutiny was like being on a lab slide. 'He told Diana. He gave her a lift in this morning.'

Scully tried to ignore the pang she felt at Diana Fowley's name. Mulder's old partner. Scully didn't trust her and was sure she was working with Them, the Cancer Man, the Syndicate or whatever they chose to call themselves. She couldn't prove it, especially to Mulder who most needed it. He hung on Fowley's every word, completely disregarding his own axiom to trust no-one. Especially old lovers.

'Look, can I talk to you seriously for a minute?' he asked, pulling the chair closer and leaning onto her desk.

'I don't know. Can you?'

He smirked, and started idly pushing pens back and forth on her desk. 'I've heard some excellent things about you. I read your senior thesis and the reports you submitted while you were working on the X-Files. They were concise, intelligent, balanced, and professional. Completely unlike Mulder's. You have the potential to go a long way in the Bureau, but you've got to see that Mulder is holding you back. You'll never get the respect you deserve if you continue to waste your time here. He is all but gone, Scully. A lost cause. He's a millstone around your neck and you have to let him go. For God's sake, look around you! You're doing a rookie's job. This is punishment Scully, not an assignment.'

She finally tore her eyes from the monitor and threw him an icy, caustic glare. Trembling with barely contained anger, she said, 'At least I can sleep at night, Agent Spender. Mulder wasn't assigned to the X-files to serve someone else's agenda like a goddamned errand boy. He's passionate, dedicated, loyal and more than that is a good, decent and honest man who understands what morality means. All you're interested in is climbing the ladder. I would rather spend the rest of my life sat behind this desk than compromise my dignity and self respect by being someone else's pawn in a game where the stakes are other people's lives.'

'Oh don't be so goddamned sanctimonious. You spent five years debunking his work and finally someone listened. The X-Files are nothing but BS, Scully, and you know it. There's not one shred of evidence in them to support any of the conclusions that Mulder made, and a whole lot of reports from you contradicting his findings with scientific fact. The man is one step away from being committed and you know something? You're one step behind him. You're just as full of shit as he is.' He pushed away the chair as he stood, slamming it against Scully's desk hard enough to knock over the desk organizer, sending pens rolling onto the floor.

'Then I'm surprised you would waste your time coming all the way down here to tell me that,' she seethed, rising to face him. 'Now get out of my sight, you brown-nosing son of a bitch, before I do something we'd both regret.'

'I can't wait to see you fall on your ass, Scully.'

She grabbed his sleeve as he made a point of brushing past her and whispered to him, 'Stay the hell way from Mulder and me, or so help me God, I'll make you sorry.'

He shook her off and headed for the door.

Scully suddenly became aware of the tension that had filled her body, and collapsed into the chair, shaking with fury. She glanced around the large room with its rows of desks lined up like a schoolroom, all topped with regulation, uniform computer terminals, telephones and little plastic trays. Most people continued with their work, but those closest to her continued to stare. The room seemed to close in around her, encasing her in its smoky cream walls, worn carpets and filthy horizontal blinds that hung like broken teeth over the windows, suffocating her. She had to get out. Anywhere but here. She took her cell phone from the drawer, flicked off her terminal and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, shoving her arms into the sleeves and adjusting her collar so violently she cut her neck with her own fingernails as she blew out of the room.

Stabbing at the elevator call button, she wished that she'd followed Mulder's lead and stayed out of the office this morning. It wasn't as though she'd be missed. She cursed at the slowness of the elevator, and had just decided to take the stairs when the doors opened. She thanked God it was empty; she needed a few seconds to herself away from curious, judging eyes. As the lift doors hissed shut, her cell phone rang, its chirpy tones breaking her reverie. Cursing at her worsening morning and the denial of even a moments reprieve, she hit receive.

'Scully.'

'Good morning, Agent Scully. This is Lucy Kiernan, AD Kersh's secretary. He would like to see Agent Mulder and yourself in his office as soon as possible, but I'm having trouble reaching Agent Mulder.'

She sighed, pushing the stop button on the elevator, 'Okay, we'll be there in fifteen minutes. I know where Mulder is.'

'I'll tell him to expect you.'

She hit 'end' and sagged heavily against the wall. She began rubbing her temples, trying to remove the headache that had suddenly appeared, wondering what the hell Mulder had done this time.

**PRACTISE RANGE**

**FBI HEADQUARTERS **

**10.30AM**

Mulder clicked out the empty magazine onto the floor and snapped in a new one. The paper target had already been removed and a new one put up, must have been the seventh today. The instructor watched him from the sound-proofed office and shook his head.

'Agent Mulder,' he said over the PA, 'you've passed about a dozen times already, why don't you give it a rest for now?' He yelled over the constant snapping of guns.

Mulder ignored him. He had hit mostly limb and head, but he could do better than that. His aim was slightly off today, probably because of his lack of concentration. He'd continue until he felt satisfied, even though he'd fired round after round, and a collection of expended cartridges littered the floor. He fired again and again as the target came closer to him, hitting it squarely in the heart every time. That was much better, but he didn't feel quite ready to face going up to the office yet, so he snapped another magazine into his Smith and Wesson. His shoulders and forearms ached with every recoil, and even though he wore the standard earmuffs, each snap of the powerful gun rang in his ears. Still, it felt good to be expending some energy, working off his tension. Usually he went for a long run, but it had been raining pretty heavily out, and glancing out of the window at 5.30 in the morning and seeing that, he had decided he couldn't be bothered, rolled over and went back to sleep. So it was a choice between a little basketball or some healthily directed violence. The violence had won. The only problem was deciding who to imagine in the targets place; Skinner for letting them down when they needed him most, Cancer Man for just being born or Spender for stealing away everything that was important to him. Or maybe it should be Kersh, for assigning Scully with someone else who had almost gotten her killed. At least she was back with him now, for the time being.

But then again maybe he was the selfish one for pulling her down with him. Wasn't she stuck with the same detail as him now? Wasn't that his fault for never following rules, always going his own way no matter where it took him, with never a thought for who he bulldozed through in the process? Scully had told him on numerous occasions that he shouldn't think like that, this was her choice, her quest too now that she had become involved personally through the death of her sister and daughter, and her own abduction. Still, it pained him to think that he had damaged Scully's career and stopped her from doing what she had always wanted to do. And now, Kersh was beginning to give them separate assignments. He should be glad that she was beginning to regain the respect she once had, but she was doing it without him. Without her, the work would lose all meaning for him. He needed her solid base to keep him on the ground, keep him sane, rational. No-one understood him or had more patience with him and listened to him and his theories like she did. He sighed. Not that the work was his anymore to be worrying about anyway, but he still hoped that one day he would regain his assignment to the X-Files, once 'They' had finished making their point and showing him how easily they could take everything away from him. At least for the moment, that possibility remained remote.

'Whoa, nice shootin', Tex,' smiled Scully in the best western accent she could muster.

The target slid once more back toward him, rattling on its chain pulley. Perfect score.

'Why, thank you, ma'am,' he replied, expending the last magazine, removing his muffs and safety goggles and reaching for the cloth to wipe down the gun, 'I was just finishing anyway, I was on my way up to see if you wanted to get some coffee. Starbuck's have an 'All-U-Can Drink' special and God knows we have the time.'

Her face was flushed, she seemed upset about something, 'Not this morning, sorry. I just had a call from AD Kersh. He wants to see us urgently. His secretary told me she couldn't get hold of you, is your cell phone switched off?'

'Yeah, it's in the desk upstairs. I didn't think I needed it. It ain't exactly a hotline anymore.' He checked the firing pin and made sure the chamber was clean before snapping in a new magazine.

'It sounded serious, Mulder, and we're already late so I suggest we get going.'

Mulder hung up the ear-muffs and goggles on a metal hook at the side of the booth and holstered his gun, 'But I haven't done anything. Lately...' The instructor eyed them both from the booth as he gave Scully his innocent little boy look.

'Mmm, the thought had crossed my mind, I have to admit. But if you say so…'

'Scully,' he scolded as he opened the door for her, 'you have no faith in me.'

'Mulder,' she returned in the same tone, 'I'm the only one who has faith in you. By the way, I ran into Spender this morning. He gave me a little…careers advice, shall I call it,' she smiled, 'and apparently being your partner is putting something of a hold on my shining and brilliant career within the FBI.'

He laughed, 'Really? He's a great guy isn't he? I should take him for a beer one night. So, are you taking the advice?'

'Of course,' she replied, trying to keep a straight face as they headed toward the elevator, 'I've finally decided you are a pain in the ass.'

Assistant Director Kersh's office was located on the fifth floor of the J. Edgar Hoover building on Pennsylvania Avenue, facing west overlooking part of downtown Washington, with the Monument and Reflecting Pools just about visible in the distance. Decorated with shining, burnished wood panels, it was as uniform as most other offices in the building, including AD Skinner's, although this room was larger. There were no cabinets containing monuments to past success as in Skinner's office, but there were gilt framed certificates hung on picture rails running around the room for exams, firearms training, his university graduation and several other accolades determining that this man was set to go straight to the top, and judging from his no-nonsense attitude and extreme dislike of Agent Mulder, he didn't mind who he upset to get there. It seemed that 'asshole' was on the list of requirements for career advancement these days.

Which is the reason Mulder instantly became suspicious when the agents were welcomed with a smile as he opened the door for them.

'Good morning Agents Mulder, Scully. Sit down,' he said, gesturing to a pair of burgundy leather seats opposite the huge mahogany desk.

He was of the same stature as Skinner too, and there was power in his stride and authority in his air as he closed the door behind them and returned to his desk.

'I have to congratulate you on your work last month on the Grogan kidnapping, Agent Scully. That was a good result, and generated some excellent PR for the bureau.'

'Thank you, sir,' she replied.

After a brief pause, he turned to Mulder. 'I believe you were involved in the stakeout and final arrest of James Faulkner too. I heard some very good reports, and I have to say I was impressed by your dedication, support and especially your profile on the suspect. It showed some of the ability that got you ahead in the first place, and we need to see more of that. You need some good points on your record,' then added with a glance at Scully, 'both of you.'

Mulder was taken aback by the praise; it wasn't exactly what he had been expecting from this meeting. He bet the words had choked him even as they were uttered. Still, he supposed it was the best he could expect under the circumstances.

'Yes, sir,' he muttered. He was sure there was a lingering smell of stale tobacco in the air. _Did Kersh smoke_?

'Having said that, however, you both have a long way to go in proving yourselves. Your insubordination, blatant disregard for protocol and, I need hardly mention, titanic expense accounts have damaged your respect, status and long-term careers within this institution. Your previous AD may have tolerated such things, but let me make it crystal clear that I most definitely am not.'

Mulder glanced at Scully, with puzzled eyes, wondering what he had done. And the conversation had started off so well, too.

'Excuse me, sir,' he said, straightening himself in the chair, steeling himself for a confrontation, 'but I'm not clear on what I'm supposed to have - '

'Let me finish, Agent Mulder,' he replied in a tone that indicated he didn't like being interrupted. 'Despite that, as I said, your work over the past few weeks has shown me that maybe you're ready for something a little more challenging. You are both excellent agents, and have proven yourself to be so in the past, but your talents were wasted on the X-Files and I am going to give you a chance to prove that you can be those impressive agents you once were.'

He pushed a brown foolscap file toward Scully.

'That is a case file faxed to me yesterday from the London branch of Interpol. It concerns a murder that took place three days ago just outside the city. The nature of the crime was such that they instantly notified Interpol; you'll see why when you look at the photographs. The police there seem to think it was maybe a ritual killing or a professional, highly motivated hit, but they don't really have a clue.'

Scully opened the file and flicked through the sheaf of eight by ten black and white photographs. They were very grainy because of the transmission, but she could make out that the victim was a man although his age wasn't clear. He appeared to be sleeping. his head resting on a pillow and his legs were clad in pajama pants. The bed on which he lay was soaked with a dark pool of what she can only assume was blood, originating from a wound in his abdomen. It ran from just below the transpyloric line bisecting his chest and lower thorax, around in a crescent shape to three or four inches below the transtubercular line, and the whole section of skin had been pulled back and was lying over his side.

'Oh, my God,' she whispered. It was sickening, even through the poor quality of the shots. The violence and destruction in that room in life must have been an extremely disturbing sight. Mulder leaned toward her to see as she passed him the file. He looked just as shocked as she did. After the photographs, there were a few A4 sheets detailing the address where the murder took place, the name of the victim, his age, occupation and other personal details. His name was Henry Beckman, a forty-two year old computer programmer from just outside the city, a district called Islington. The official cause of death was listed as massive blood loss due to the surgical removal of his liver. The tox screen had revealed traces of heroin in his bloodstream, although he was not thought to be a drug user.

'I'm giving you these because we have been asked to assist in the investigation by Chief Superintendent Alan Ford of Scotland Yard. As you know, your paper on the medical condition relating to a Eugene Victor Tooms, Agent Scully, was published a few years back in the Scientific Journal, and CS Ford feels that your previous experience with this man would make you extremely useful to his investigation.'

Mulder was beginning to feel that he had been brought here just to sit and listen to Scully being praised while he sat there and took all the flack, and was about to say something to that effect when Kersh turned to him, 'Of course, the profile that you provided on Tooms went a long way to ensuring his arrest, Agent Mulder,' he added, almost as a begrudged afterthought. 'Although Ford has not asked for your help directly, I believe you would be an asset, and am therefore also assigning you to the case.'

He shifted in his seat, not quite believing what he was hearing. Not only was he surprised to be given such praise, albeit grudgingly, but he was being handed an important case that possibly was linked to an X-File. Scully looked just as mystified as him.

'Sir, it's not that I am ungrateful by any means,' she said slowly, carefully, 'but why are you giving this case to us? Tooms couldn't possibly have committed this crime, and I am sure there have been plenty of homicides involving organ extractions. Have they looked at black market, for example? Private sales? Why should this particular case have raised such interest?'

'If you read the full report, you will see that not only is the point of entry undetermined yet, there was an unusual print found on a ground floor window that could only be opened five inches or so.'

As Scully flicked back to the report, Mulder leaned over to read it with her. Traces of a yellow substance were also found on the window. Subsequent tests revealed it to be human bile. Bile from Henry Beckman. But this was nothing compared to the print pulled from the window. A fuzzy close up of it was also included - the tips of the middle and ring fingers must have been at least four inches long. Excitement fluttered within him.

'Sir, do you think that Eugene Tooms is involved in this killing? Is that why you're giving this case to us?'

'No, Agent Mulder. Tooms is dead. This is not an X-File,' he said sternly, 'I want you both to fully understand that. However, Tooms clearly had some kind of medical condition that enabled him to stretch and elongate his body, an ability he believed he gained from consuming human livers. Whether or not that need was actual or psychological remains unclear, and as he is dead we may never know. But if Tooms had this condition, then it is possible someone else did too.'

It seemed like manna from heaven. Mulder just couldn't believe that this case was being given to them. He _didn't_ believe it. If there was one thing that experience thus far had taught him it was to trust no one, especially someone who, just a few weeks ago, was threatening him with suspension and even prosecution for, amongst other things, obstructing justice and impeding investigations. He couldn't help himself.

'Sir, I hope you'll understand when I ask you if we are being set up here? With all due respect,' he continued, as Kersh's eyes turned dark, 'try to understand from my point of view, you're sending us to London? On a case linked to the X-Files? What's the catch?'

Mulder braced himself for a verbal battering, not least from Scully, but she surprised him by just as eager for a response as he. Undoubtedly the thought had crossed her mind too.

For his part, the storm that had threatened to break passed over. Kersh just removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, probably trying to keep calm. 'There are no catches. I am hoping that you have learned a lesson from the past few months, and am willing to give you a chance to prove that the faith I am placing in you is justified. To throw away such a promising career would be the biggest mistake of your life. I just hope you've had sufficient time to realize that.'

Mulder sighed and turned to Scully. She didn't need to speak, her eyes told him it was his decision, her path ahead again lay in his hands. She was trusting him, and was prepared to stand by him. That meant more than anything Kersh could have said. 'Thank you, sir. We accept the case.'

Kersh smiled, a very odd look on him. 'Good. I'll arrange your flight details. Be ready to leave this afternoon.' He pushed himself away from the desk and walked to the door, signaling the end of the meeting. He waited for Scully to leave before saying, 'Agent Mulder, could I have a minute longer?'

Kersh was full of surprises today, and he hoped that this wasn't one of the more unpleasant ones. 'I'll meet you downstairs in a while,' he said to Scully. She nodded and made her way down the corridor. He went to sit back down, but was stopped by Kersh's large, dark hand on his arm. A powerful grip, from a confident man.

'A word of warning. If anything goes wrong, if I receive one phone call about you or Agent Scully, I will make sure that you will be out of the bureau so fast, your feet won't touch the ground. Both of you. And a blot like that on Agent Scully's record will probably mean she will never practice medicine again either. Just think about that.'

Kersh had gone too far. The hard set of his jaw and anger in his stare was more than Mulder could take. He threw off Kersh's hand, and with a determination of his own replied, 'Off the record, _sir_, if you want me out, why the hell don't you just go ahead and fire me, or put me on background checks and wire tapping for the rest of my goddamned career? I'd really like to know what your cigarette smoking friend's agenda is, because I know he's been up here and I know he's told you to set us up. So why all this game playing, because you and I both know that's exactly what this is.'

Kersh closed the door quickly; his secretary was taking a little too much notice. 'I don't like you, Agent Mulder. I never have. I think you're a loose cannon, dangerous and a liability. I'd just as soon cut you off as dead weight, but there are people out there who don't share my opinions and think you're a brilliant agent, or used to be anyway. But I can assure you that no one in this bureau is out to get you. If anything, you're being given a second chance. You greatly overestimate your importance and eventually your arrogance and paranoia will be your downfall. One thing I will tell you though is that Agent Scully is the only one who can save you right now. Every mark against your name is a mark against hers - if you don't care about your own career, that's fine, but you're also dragging her down with you. Maybe you should think about that.'

'Don't threaten Scully because of me. Assign her elsewhere, give her a different partner but don't punish her for my mistakes.' His tone had changed to pleading, he was prepared for the consequences of his actions, but he didn't want Scully to catch the backlash.

'She is staying with you because if you have someone else to consider, you won't be so quick to ignore the rules. You're a much better agent for her influence and without it you'd have been fired a long time ago. I'm giving you both a chance to salvage a little dignity and self-respect. Don't let me down or I'll destroy you, and her too. You're valuable, but not indispensable. Do I make myself clear?'

'Crystal,' replied Mulder, pushing past him and trying to resist the urge to slam the door as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 2**

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD**

**BROADWAY, LONDON, ENGLAND**

**FRIDAY, FEB 19, 1999**

Jetlag had never really affected Scully before, but this morning she wondered how she managed to pull herself out of bed. The late, turbulent flight over had left her tired and aching, and the last thing she had needed was a long drive to their hotel in St James's, just opposite Green Park. They hadn't arrived until late the previous evening, so she'd just had time to get a few hours restless sleep on a too-soft mattress before she had to be at New Scotland Yard.

Mulder never had that problem. He only slept when he absolutely needed to, being something of an insomniac, and yet possessed the uncanny ability to be able to fall asleep almost anywhere, including a tiny plane seat. He'd only recently bothered with a bed, and even that had been...a gift. The only thing he had complained about was the lack of ice coolers, vending machines and 'those little wrapped soaps' he was used to back home. Consequently he was a lot more alert than she. He had studied for his psychology degree in England though, so maybe it wasn't such a culture shock as he liked to make out. That thought brought back uncomfortable memories of Inspector Phoebe Green, whom Mulder had met and had a brief relationship with during those years. Uncomfortable for him because of the way the relationship had ended, uncomfortable for her because…well, the least said about that the better.

Still, she tried to remain in as good a mood as possible as they drove in their rented silver Vauxhall Omega toward Broadway, the new site of the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police. It was a difficult drive, especially in early morning traffic through one of the busiest cities in the world, and the fact that Mulder had to get used to driving a strange car on the wrong side of the road meant inevitable delays and a few near misses. All things considered, they probably would have been better off walking. Still, it was a beautiful city with a rich character and sense of history that the cities back home rarely offered, and only a short drive away was some of the most pretty countryside she had ever seen. She hoped that this case would be brought to a close in time for her to soak up a little of the culture before they went home.

They arrived well before their scheduled meeting with Chief Superintendent Ford, in spite of Mulder taking the wrong turning twice. The building was new and modern, having been moved in the late sixties from its site near the Thames. The early morning sun glinted on the mainly-glass structure as they pulled in to the car park, and put the car in a visitors spot. Scully didn't really like it, she was half hoping for a huge, old gothic type structure that she thought England was filled with. She should have realized that impressions of a place are rarely true after the fact.

The reception area was modestly decorated in magnolias and white, leading up to an artexed ceiling. Two huge potted palms stood either side of the double doors leading into the body of the building, and to the left of those, a Formica desk with a computer terminal, telephone, and switchboard on top. Behind the desk sat a pretty young woman in a maroon skirt suit. She smiled pleasantly as the agents entered, and stood to greet them. After issuing them with security passes, she offered coffee, which was politely declined, then telephoned upstairs to ask Chief Superintendent Ford to come down.

They hadn't been waiting long when one of the double doors opened, and a middle aged, tall, well-built man with greying hair and a deeply lined face emerged from the corridor. He strode confidently toward them.

'Good morning, I'm CS Ford,' he said as he shook the agents' hands.

'Good morning, Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Agent Mulder.'

'I'm very pleased to meet you. Could we go upstairs to my office? I believe we have quite a lot to discuss.'

The agents followed him through the doors and through a series of very similar looking corridors to a spiralling flight of stairs. Scully sincerely hoped that he showed them out too; the place was a rabbit warren. Ford's office was on the tenth floor at the back of the building, a much lighter and airier place than they was used to, having been in a basement office for five years and then being transferred upstairs to an equally dismal room with thick blinds. _The basement office_. What she wouldn't give to be back there now. She sighed, trying not to dwell on the past. However bad their new situation was, it had to be better than getting fired.

Ford was fortunate in having a beautiful view from his window, away from the noise and bustle of the street at the front. It overlooked part of St James' Park and the lake, and in the other direction, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and the sprawling, lazy Thames as it crawled through the cosmopolitan city toward the North Sea. The office itself was the same magnolia and white as the reception and corridors, with chestnut and glass display cabinets on opposite walls holding trophies and awards that Scully didn't recognise. A similar dark oak desk as was found in Kersh's office stood underneath the window, and she cynically wondered if this type of desk was standard issue for all law enforcement agencies. It was clean and uncluttered, with just a laptop terminal, telephone and blotter pad resting on top, and a scattering of silver framed photographs of smiling children whom she assumed must be Ford's grandchildren. A varied selection of houseplants lined the windowsill and topped the filing cabinets that helped soften the room and broke up the plainness of the walls. Ford gestured to a pair of tan-coloured tweed seats opposite his desk which were comfortable, but the fabric itched a little against the back of Scully's legs.

'I am very pleased that the FBI was able to spare you, especially agents of your calibre,' he said, taking the seat behind the desk.

Scully wondered what exactly Kersh had told him about them.

'This was a very strange and unusual crime, we've rarely seen anything like it. This type of violence is almost unprecedented, and it was felt not just by myself, but some of my colleagues here and at Interpol that the FBI's experience in crimes of this nature would be invaluable, especially considering your work on the Tooms case - I read about it in one of the journals I receive from a friend in Washington. I always like to keep an interest in international crime, you see - broadens the horizons,' he said with a smile. 'There is also the fingerprint that I…well, let's just say I am at a complete loss of how to explain it. I can only assume there has been an error somewhere. I realise that fingerprinting was first implemented here and we have one of the most modern and extensive databases in the world, but no-one here as ever seen anything like it.'

'We're grateful to be of some help, sir,' said Scully, and after a short pause, 'I understand that the victim's name was Henry Beckman. Has his body been released to the family yet?'

'Yes, he is being buried later this week. We were lucky to be able to have a post-mortem at all, his wife was most unwilling to have her husband violated any further. But the forensic team has assured me that they have learned all they can, our coroner is very thorough. I have since received his full report and you are welcome to it as soon as we can get a copy for you.'

Scully was sure that the coroner was very reliable, but nevertheless she would have liked to have taken a look for herself. 'That would be great, thank you. A knife was thought to have been used to remove the victims liver. I assume it wasn't found at the scene as there was no mention of it in the report. Was the liver completely removed? No traces at all found?'

'No, Agent Scully, not a thing, other than the smear of what turned out to be bile on the window. We believe the murderer took it with him, along with the knife, scalpel or whatever. It was probably the motivational factor behind the crime. Maybe this is something to do with black market organ sales. It _was_ surgically removed, and there are thousands of people on waiting lists. Illegal organ trafficking is a lucrative business.'

Mulder shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but Scully knew it meant he didn't believe that. But still, she also knew he had to retain it as a possibility. He asked, 'Have you been able to ascertain if anything was missing from the victim or the scene?'

'No, his wife didn't believe so. You're welcome to speak to her again, though I should warn you that she's in a very delicate state. She's staying with her mother at the moment. It's not really a crime you would associate with a burglary though.'

'No, not usually, but, as you speculated, there seems to be a strong motive for this murder - people are not usually drugged and mutilated on the spur of the moment. Can I ask what his wife's name is?'

'Catherine,' replied Ford. 'I can give you her address. We'll call in on her this afternoon after lunch, after we've been to the house. You would like a look at the scene?'

'We would,' said Mulder.

'I can't help noticing the similarities between this and the Tooms case, and there was mention in the article about anomalous forensic evidence and the such like. Could I ask…the strange evidence…was it an odd fingerprint?'

Scully wasn't sure whether or not Mulder wanted to let Ford in on the details just yet - she wasn't sure how well his theories would go down with English police. Like a lead balloon, if they were anything like some local law enforcement back home. Apparently Mulder was having the same thoughts because he met her eyes, then looked away again as quickly and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before admitting, 'There was an...unusual fingerprint found at the scene of what was believed to be Tooms first murder, and another identical print found at the third. That print was similar to that found on the window at the Beckman crime scene in so much as they were both...distended.' He didn't add that the gap between the murders was thirty years which would, in addition to his other murders, make Tooms around a hundred years old. Maybe Ford wasn't quite ready for that just yet.

'Really,' exclaimed Ford, leaning back in his chair, seemingly elated. 'Then there may be much more to this than meets the eye. Do you have an explanation for the anomalous prints?'

_ Please sound sane and rational, Mulder_, Scully thought. She hoped that his next words wouldn't land them on the next plane back to Washington. Whatever she might have thought of Kersh, he was at least giving them an excellent opportunity to regain some grace and favour. She hoped he wasn't about to blow it.

Mulder sighed, 'This is going to sound very strange, but I'd like you to keep an open mind here, okay?'

The smile fell from Ford's face, 'Of course.'

'What was in that article was true, but it wasn't quite the whole truth. Much of that case was kept out of the media mainly because people would never believe it anyway, but also because the FBI wouldn't want to be associated with some of the conclusions that we made. It needs to stay on a need-to-know basis.'

'You don't need to tell me that,' said Ford, a little offended. 'What you say will remain between us, unless of course, it has significant bearing on this case.'

Mulder paused, 'I don't think it does, Inspector, but it may help you to see things a little more clearly. Eugene Victor Tooms was, for want of a better phrase, a genetic mutant. His DNA, his cell structure, his abilities and needs were unlike any other. You know about the fingerprints - there were no errors made. Those long prints were made by elongated fingers. Tooms possessed the ability to dislocate his joints and extend them, his bones were malleable and could contort to alter the length of his fingers, hands, and arms, allowing him to gain access to his victims. The first victim was found in a locked office - access was gained through an air duct. Not just his arms though, he could do this with every joint and bone in his body.'

Scully lowered her eyes, feeling ashamed and very guilty for not having a little more faith in her partner. After all they'd been through. She was glad he wasn't psychic. He might be headstrong sometimes, but he wasn't stupid.

Ford inhaled sharply, 'Agent Mulder, this sounds like a science fiction novel. I knew that he had demonstrated some strange abilities, but to classify him as a genetic mutant? Do you have a scientific basis for that?'

Scully, to Mulder's surprise, answered him, 'Yes, sir, we have x-rays taken of Tooms during an examination at a Baltimore hospital after he accused Agent Mulder of attacking him. He actually beat himself up - dislocated his own shoulder. I won't bore you with the medical terminology, but suffice it to say that Tooms had an extremely unusual bone structure. Blood tests also showed a deficiency in several enzymes that may explain his craving for human livers. A full psychological profile was in the process of being drawn up when his doctor became one of his victims, so much of his diagnosis remains a point of conjecture.'

'This medical condition - does it have a name?'

'Tooms was, we believe the first and hopefully last of his kind. They don't have a name for what he was. However, we can't possibly rule out that if this condition turned up once, it can and will make itself known again,' replied Mulder.

Ford nodded. 'I think maybe you should take a look at the crime scene. When you've seen the evidence for yourselves, then we can decide whether the Tooms case is relevant or not.'

'Yes, sir. We would…' Scully started before she was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the Inspector's telephone.

'I'm sorry, excuse me,' he said, picking up the receiver, 'Margaret, I'm in a meeting. I told you…'

Mulder and Scully sat in silence, listening to the CS's 'Mmm's' and 'Yes', before his face began to change. His mouth fell open slightly and he rubbed at his eyes with his stubby fingers. He sighed before replacing the receiver.

'I'm glad you arrived this morning, we could definitely use your help now. There's been another murder.'


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 3**

**ELLEN GRANT'S RESIDENCE**

**ST MICHEAL'S ROAD, STOCKWELL**

**LONDON**

**13.35PM**

Miss Grant's apartment was on the first floor of a building that housed an accountant's firm on the ground. The street probably would have been quiet had it not been lined with marked and unmarked police cars, a police van and forensic caravan. Blue and white police tape crossed the street and both entrances to the building, keeping the small group of morbid onlookers away. Through the window, Scully could see the employees from the accountancy firm were being interviewed by two men in suits, most likely CID. More people clad in white plastic protective clothing, the forensic team, came and went through the entrance to the apartments upstairs around to the right hand side of the building. Mulder and Scully followed Ford upstairs, through a hallway covered in tired beige carpet with cream and red walls, past a handful of other doors toward the last door on the left. Blue police tape also bordered the door, and flashes of light came from inside as scene of crime officers recorded the carnage inside. A policeman stood outside the room, and he smiled as Ford approached.

'Good morning, sir, Inspector McTierney is already inside.'

'Thanks, Dawson. These are Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI.'

'Yes, sir, pleased to meet you both. Go right in.'

The drapes were still pulled across the windows, but the lights inside the room were all on. Drops of blood traced across the swirled blue carpet through the living area toward the bedroom, all marked with yellow tags. CS Ford spoke briefly to an officer dressed from head to foot in white plastic, and then they were left alone in the room. The victim was a pitiful sight, her injuries the same as the agents had seen before. Even seen-it-all Mulder turned his head away. She was not as peaceful as Beckman had seemed in the photographs. Whatever drug may have been present in the previous victim either wasn't used here at all or hadn't been effective. She had struggled. An ugly bruise had started to form on her right cheek spreading across her eye and a trickle of blood traced its way from a cracked lip down and across her delicate chin. Scully moved further into the room as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Ellen Grant lay sideways on the bed, her arms above her head and legs bent over the side. She had been repeatedly stabbed in the chest and throat, as well as having her liver removed. The bedcovers were soaked with blood which was beginning to darken around the edges and sprays on blood fountained up the wall around her head. Her eyes were closed, sparing Scully from the vision of terror that was probably etched into this woman's face when she realized what was happening to her. She had undoubtedly been alive when her liver was removed, and to Scully's horror, judging from the signs of struggle and the arterial spray, probably conscious.

'Mulder, take a look at this,' she said, turning Grant's fingers over to more easily see the torn fingernails and caked blood underneath.

'She scratched her killer?'

'Maybe, or it could be her own. Her hands will be bagged and the bedclothes sent for examination too, I've already seen to all that.' A female voice from the doorway. Scully raised her head. 'You must be the FBI agents.'

'Morning, Kate,' said Ford. 'Agents Mulder and Scully, this is Inspector Kate McTierney.'

She shook their hands warmly. 'Pleased to have you on the team,' she smiled, then turned to Ford. 'Sir, Steve and Alec have gone to the hospital to interview the cleaner who found the body. The woman was hysterical when we arrived, they had to sedate her. It's not a pretty sight, is it?'

'It doesn't look as if she's been dead more than a few hours,' observed Scully, not really approving of McTierney's light tone. 'Do you know if she went out anywhere last night, Inspector?'

'No, not yet. We're still trying to get hold of her boyfriend. The cleaner, Mrs Hancock, told us that Ellen had mentioned yesterday that she was going out for a meal with him last night; some anniversary or something. We're checking with the restaurant now to see if she turned up or not. She was in work yesterday though.'

The man in the white plastic suit pushed the door open. 'Inspector, we're more or less finished here, and the coroner's just arrived.'

'Okay, thanks, show them up,' she said.

'Sir, I'd like to be present for the autopsy if possible,' said Scully.

'I don't see why not,' said Ford, 'as long as the coroner has no objections. I can take you there if you'd like.'

Mulder was over at the dressing table in the corner, a solid pine desk with three drawers on the left side. A mirror, jewelry box and telephone stood on top. He was bending down, staring at the mirror.

'Inspector, I think something is missing from here.'

She came over, stood beside him and leaned over to take a look, her long brown curls falling across the side of Mulder's face. Her hair smelled vaguely of roses. 'Where, I can't see anything.'

Mulder tilted the mirror, to alter the angle. 'There, in the corner. You can see a faint outline of dirt or something. Like a photograph or picture was slotted in here. This could be important, we need to find out if something was taken.'

She turned to him and smiled, 'Well spotted, Agent Mulder. I'll have someone check into that as soon as we can track down either her boyfriend or her parents.'

He couldn't help smiling back, even though he could see Scully's raised eyebrow. He could imagine what was going through her mind. He half-enjoyed irritating her - she could be so conservative and rigid sometimes he wondered she didn't break in two. So, with his arm at McTierney's back, he guided her around to the other side of the bed.

Scully watched her partner's flirting with a mixture of anger and amusement, but she was beginning to feel excluded and awkward. He could be such a loser sometimes. As if someone who was as attractive and tenacious as McTierney could ever be interested in someone like Mulder. If only she could see his magazine collection.

The coroner had arrived, and with just a reverent nod to the agents, carefully placed the body into a bag, draping it with a white sheet. Strapping it down for the journey to the morgue, he engaged the wheels of the gurney and moved out.

'The forensic team will be leaving soon, too. Hopefully we'll have traced at least one of her parents by then, so we can meet back up at the station later if you like, sir,' McTierney told Ford.

'Yes, I think so,' he replied, 'Agent Mulder, are you joining us?'

'Actually, I think I'll stay here and give the Inspector a hand, if that's alright. There's not a lot I can do at the autopsy anyway, that's Agent Scully's field.'

'Whatever you think best, Agent Mulder. We'll see you later, then,' said Ford, accompanied by a very somber looking Agent Scully who shot him a warning glance just before she left.

'So, where do you want to start, Inspector?' Mulder asked.

'You could give me a hand to look for an address book, or something with her parents' phone numbers on. Mrs Hancock wasn't much help there.' She raised her head to look at him. 'She was only twenty five, you know. Such a waste.'

'It always is. I guess you're not used to seeing this type of thing, are you?'

'No, thank God. Are you?'

'Working in behavioral science, you get to see the worst of what people can do to each other. Our work can get pretty ugly. But I've also learned that there is always more to everything than meets the eye,' said Mulder, glancing around the room. 'Have you established the point of entry yet?'

'At first we thought he may have had a key, but Mrs Hancock assured me that Miss Grant was very security conscious. I mean you can see for yourself the number of bolts and chains she has on the doors and windows around the place. The only key holders were herself and Mrs Hancock and the door was still locked when she arrived this morning. There's no sign of forced entry, so that one is a bit of a puzzler at the moment.'

As Mulder watched her, it occurred to him – not for the first time – that she was very young to have reached Inspector so soon. She was also extraordinarily pretty. Her long, chestnut hair was swept back in a tortoiseshell clip, with a few curls falling exotically across her sun-kissed face and blue eyes. He tried to concentrate. 'Is there an air vent or anything like that here?'

'I don't know,' she said, frowning, 'I haven't really looked.' She started to move toward the door and Mulder followed. The living room was decorated in shades of blue, with a huge plaster fireplace directly opposite the door to the hallway. A basket of dried flowers brightened the hearth, and a large gilt framed mirror hung over it. An overstuffed two seat settee was at right angles to the fireplace opposite the television, thinly coated with undisturbed dust. Mulder glanced around at the ceiling, not finding what he was looking for. Across from the television behind the still closed drapes, a pair of French windows opened out onto the fire escape. He looked around closely, but the door had not been forced or recently moved - a thin cobweb stretched across the bottom corner.

'I'll go check around the bathroom,' said Mulder, leaving McTierney moving aside the dried flowers in the hearth, probably looking for the weapon.

He felt around the doorway for the switch, found a pull string and the room filled instantly with light. White and gold tiles covered the walls and floor, and the suite was ivory, but there was no window. He pulled aside the shower curtain, and glanced up.

'Bingo,' he said to himself when he had climbed up onto the side of the tub to reach the gold covered ventilation fan. Peering closely, he noticed the bottom right screw hadn't been fixed in properly. He didn't want to touch it just yet; he had to check where the outlet was first. He jumped down and only then saw a thin film of masonry dust directly underneath the vent on the bathtub. He called to McTierney.

'Would the generator for the air conditioning be on the roof or basement?'

'They're usually on the roof,' she replied as she met him outside the bathroom. 'Why do you ask?'

'Just humor me a moment, okay?' he smiled, hoping his charms would allow him to carry out his investigations a little further before he had to explain what was going on.

'Okay,' she sighed. 'You can get up there from the fire escape. I'll show you.'

A small brick shed on the roof with a wooden louver door housed the motor. A crude bolt was all the security thought necessary, so Mulder delicately pushed it open with a pen to avoid disturbing any prints. In the freezing cold, it was unco-operative at first, but eventually it scraped open, allowing them inside. He flicked on his flashlight and looked around. Dials, switches, pressure valves and clanking metal pipes surrounded them, and the rumble of the motor thundered beneath them. Towards the back, flush against the floor was another grill, this one also fastened with screws. He knelt down in the dirt and ran his hand across it. The screws had been carefully replaced here, but it was obvious through the disturbed dust and lack of the cobwebs that covered everything else that the grill had recently been moved.

'What exactly are you looking for, Agent Mulder?' McTierney was beginning to sound a little impatient.

'A gopher,' he muttered, shining his flashlight into the silver casing of the vent.

'A what?'

'Gopher. An animal that lives underground. Pest to farmers. Don't your read the Farmer's Digest?' His voice echoed from the shaft.

'Not recently.'

'I have reason to believe that this was the point of entry,' he said as he pulled himself back from the opening and replaced the cover.

She furrowed her eyebrows over her intense eyes in an expression of healthy skepticism that reminded him of Scully. He wondered how she was doing at the autopsy.

'Agent Mulder, you don't seriously think a man can fit down there, do you? I mean, who do you suspect? Plastic Man?'

He smiled as he stood and dusted himself off. 'Do you have another theory how the killer got in there with all windows and doors locked from the inside?'

'He could have had a key,' she said slowly, like a teacher to a child.

'Okay, maybe he did, but that's not very likely. You told me how security conscious this woman was - not even her boyfriend had a key.' Mulder pulled a pair of tweezers from his pocket, then crouched back down over the grill.

'Whatever,' she shrugged. 'It's more likely than someone squeezing their way through the vent system.'

'All the same, could you ask someone to come up here and dust for prints along this grate and the door. The fan in the bathroom needs to be done too.'

'No way,' she said, crossing her arms in a stand of defiance, 'that would be a complete waste of time. I'm telling you, no-one got in through there. I can't believe you're even considering it.'

He didn't answer, but pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and dropped a short, dark hair into it with the tweezers. 'Well, when you test that and find it's human hair and you get an arrest, I promise not to tell everyone how you thought I was crazy. I'll even let you take the credit for finding it. How's that?'

She moved closer as he handed her the bag, and held it up to the light. 'This could have come from the caretaker or maintenance guys.'

Mulder shook his head. 'That was ripped from someone's head, you can still see the follicle at the end. Besides, it wasn't just lying around, it was trapped just beneath the grill. Could you test it?'

She sighed, lowering the bag. 'Yeah, I guess we could. Look, I get the feeling that there's a little more going on here than you're letting on. CS Ford wouldn't tell me an awful lot, but it is a little unusual for the FBI to be called in on a British case, even if it is just for consultation. What's going on?'

'I'm sure you don't want to stand here freezing our asses off talking shop,' he said, pushing past her into the fresh air and almost blinding sunlight. 'Is there a decent place we can get some coffee or something?'

**ST ANNE'S HOSPITAL MORGUE**

**HARINGEY, NORTH LONDON**

**3.35PM**

Scully was so glad to finally get outside into the fresh air. Its sharp bite was just what she needed after being stuck in an overheated, stuffy office waiting for the autopsy results from the morgue for the past couple of hours. The grounds were beautiful, with a path winding down to the main road lined on both sides with neatly kept conifers and a variety of other heathers and alpines. A few benches stood on patches of lawn between the displays dedicated to various people who had breathed their last in this place. The one on which she now sat was in memory of a John Simmons, 'Beloved Father, Husband and Brother.' Scully wondered about the events that had led to this bench being here now. She hoped that John's family had never had to face the horrors now facing Ellen Grant's family. She sighed deeply, watching her breath condense and drift up and away from her. She began to run through what they had discovered in the autopsy. The report was being written up by the coroner's secretary, but rather than sit inside and wait for it, she had politely excused herself with a headache.

Miss Grant was undoubtedly the victim of the same killer as Henry Beckman. Despite her far more violent assault, the cause of death was the same. It was still early, but she grudgingly admitted that a serial killer seemed to be employing his trade here. The time between both killings was insufficient for real media intrusion, so the likelihood of a copycat killing was remote. The assault in the second murder seemed incidental, as though he had lost control of his victim and hit back with an unbridled ferocity. The problem with the serial killer theory though was no discernible pattern at the moment between either the victims or where they were killed. They had nothing in common that she could see. But then, that was Mulder's particular gift - to see inside a killer's mind.

She reached inside her jacket for her cellular phone and hit the quickdial to Mulder. He answered after the first ring.

'Hi, it's me. How are you getting on?'

'Great, we've found a hair at the crime scene and a possible point of entry. Forensics have gone back to the building to dust the air conditioning house on the roof and an air vent in Miss Grant's bathroom. We've also managed to get hold of her boyfriend, he's down here right now, name is Steven Little. McTierney is interviewing him. Her parents are on their way too, just arrived back from a break in Oxford. Hell of a thing to find out when you're on holiday. What about you? How did the autopsy go?'

Her breath hissed back to her in the phone as she sighed, 'As well as these things can go I guess. Cause of death was shock brought on by extensive haemorrhaging as a result of organ removal – namely the liver. There were two small haematomas and slight swelling in the brain indicating some kind of blunt force trauma. The other stab wounds were mainly superficial, aside from one that pierced her carotid, but surprisingly none of them were deeper than an inch or two. At a guess, I'd say it was caused by a pen knife, razor or scalpel; something like that. There is some good news though, we've managed to get excellent scrapings from under her nails so there's a real possibility of getting some DNA samples, assuming it's not her own. If we can match those with your hair sample, we may really be onto something. There's no evidence of sexual assault either.'

'I didn't expect there to be. There's a deeper motivation than that. Look, if you're finished up there, why don't you head back to the station?'

'Yeah, as soon as I can. Superintendent Ford wants to wait here for the report to be typed up, although the tox screens won't be back for a while yet, even though he has put a rush on them. You go ahead what you can get from Little and I'll catch up with you later.'

'Okay. Take care, Scully.'

Then she hung up and for a few seconds more, enjoyed the peaceful serenity of her surroundings and the feeling of bright sunlight on her face before returning to the morgue.


	5. Chapter 5

Yup. I know that tox screens would never be back in one day, but this is fiction, and in this world, lots of things wouldn't really happen. So bear with me... If anyone's out there, of course...

** 3.40PM**

_What the hell happened? How had he lost control?_ He paced back and forth in his cold black pit, his breath coming in panicked, angry bursts. She had thought she was better than him, could beat his savage strength, but she had been wrong. He smiled cruelly - oh, how wrong she had been. But the red cloud of anger burst again with the vision, smashing the smile and sending him again into a furious rage. He punched and kicked at the walls, the floor, each time feeling the stabbing pain of cracked bones as his knuckles splintered. He screamed, a primal scream of need, frustration and fury. Sweat soaked his forehead and ran down his back as he once again collapsed, exhausted, on the floor. As he tried to regain his breath, he tentatively reached up to his cheek where the bitch had scratched him. They burned across his skin as he touched them, four deep rips that felt stiff and sore. He didn't worry about them catching him though, he was still too clever for that. They thought they knew about The Other, but they were stupid, stumbling fools who had barely scratched the surface.

Concentrating on the nagging soreness burning across his face he envisioned new skin creeping over to seal the wounds. The angry red stripes fading to give way to clean, pure, unblemished skin. Cool, deep blue poured itself over the cuts, healing, soothing. His eyes closed as he pictured himself surrounded by the blue, floating in a cool, calm, pure bubble. His earlier, uncontrolled outburst was shameful, a sign of weakness. He would not lose control again. Control was important, what distinguished him from The Other. He would not allow another to steal what was his - he was master of his own destiny. He was in charge; he was the writer, director, actor in his plays and no-one would step out of their place again. He would wait for sleep to claim his prizes in the future and not allow the painful needs welling in him to overtake the controlled calm which was required in acquiring what he needed. He had to double the doses on the drug.

Still, part of him had enjoyed the struggle. She had surprised him by the stinging attack on his face, but it did not take long to regain control. He allowed himself a small smile as he thought of her tearstained face begging him to let her go. Begging! Why? Did she not realise the wonderful opportunity that was being given to her, the chance to help another plough through accepted reasoning and achieve immortality? Her sacrifice was small, but deeply meaningful and she would forever be as important to him as the countless others who had gone before.

His eyes opened. Blackness still surrounded him. Deep, nurturing, velvet blackness.

_ The time was approaching._

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD **

**17.25PM**

'What held you up, Scully?' Mulder sounded anxious as he met her in the foyer of the huge building. He had been on the verge of heading back to the hotel to wait for her when she finally appeared.

'I'm sorry, I should have called you earlier,' she said, shifting her pocketbook bulging with paperwork to the other hand, 'but the report took longer than we thought, and by the time that was ready, we were told the tox report would be ready in another half an hour so we decided to wait. I hadn't had anything to eat, so CS Ford bought me some lunch in the hospital cafeteria, we got to talking and…well,' she shrugged and smiled tiredly, 'I guess, I'm here now.'

'I'm glad one of us had time for lunch. All I've managed is a coffee and muffin at Starbucks, and that was hours ago.'

'Was it worth it though? What did you get out of Little?'

'No major breakthroughs. He's obviously really upset about it. He's a PR agent with some flashy sounding firm in the city, a little older than Miss Grant. He couldn't really tell us anything useful, other than she worked for a store on Oxford Street, met him two years ago at a friend's party. She was twenty five, lived alone for just over six months after she moved out from her parents' place. He gave us their address, and confirmed that they had gone for dinner together last night. They'd been to Pizza Hut, and got back around eleven thirty.'

'Yeah, that pretty much matches up with what we discovered in the autopsy. Time of death was between twelve-thirty and one, stomach contents included pizza. I take it he has an alibi.'

'Rock solid. Went straight home by taxi, arrived at quarter to twelve. Taxi service confirmed, so did his flatmate. No blood on him, no suspicious behaviour. No way it's him, Scully.'

'I thought that would be too easy,' she complained. 'I'm really tired, Mulder, it's been a long day and I'd like to get back to read through the autopsy and crime scene reports before tomorrow.' She opened the car door and slumped inside.

'Sure, I understand. I'm still hungry though, you must be by now. You want to get some dinner with me first?'

After a very swift burger and fries at a fast food place, they headed back to their hotel. Frost was beginning to settle over St James Park, painted bright silver by the new moon. The cold night air bit deep into Scully's bones as she hurried from the car to her room, pausing briefly to appreciate the beauty of the stars. Before she went in, she turned to Mulder who was already halfway through his door.

'Do you want to come in and look over these reports? We could get a head start on tomorrow, and they did rush the tox screen especially for us. Not that everything's back yet, but it's still worth checking.' It was a cheap hook, she knew, but then she wasn't looking for sympathy. Just a little company in a strange city.

'Sure, if you're not too tired. Is there any coffee on offer?'

She laughed. 'I'm sure something can be arranged.'

Her room was exactly the same as his; twin king size beds, desk, chair, walk-in closet and TV, except for one difference - hers was tidy. Mulder never did unpack so much as take his clothes from the suitcase, wear them once then throw them on the chair, floor and anything else that happened to be handy.

Scully pulled the drapes closed as he fluffed up the pillows on the bed nearest the door, propped himself up and grabbed the files from the nightstand where Scully had left them.

'Do you mind if I get changed first?' Scully told him as she made her way toward the bathroom.

'No, go ahead,' Mulder replied, opening the top manila folder containing the autopsy results. The first page contained the summary and didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. Cause of death was as Scully had told him, extensive bruising on her right temple, extending down almost to her jaw, no evidence of sexual assault. He was surprised that Scully made no mention of the small puncture wound on her inner left arm that had hemorrhaged and had a scratch extending downwards towards her wrist. He quickly looked through the sheaf of papers for the toxicology report. Finding the peaked line graph of the GC-MS results, he soon saw that aside from a type of steroid used to treat severe allergies, there was a tiny amount of heroin in her bloodstream and on the skin around the puncture wound. No-where near enough to have even caused a minor trip, let alone render her unconscious.

The bathroom door opened and Scully appeared in blue jeans and a ribbed beige top, her hair tucked behind her ears.

'Scully, how come you didn't mention the puncture wound?'

'You didn't give me a chance when I called you. We weren't sure at the time exactly what it was anyway.'

'This is the link we need, don't you think? I'm positive it's the same killer, but something must have gone wrong in Grant's case. Maybe she woke up when he tried to administer the heroin and started to fight.'

She brought over his coffee and sat on the edge of the bed facing him.

'That would make sense. He uses the drug to induce unconsciousness so he can take his time removing the liver. It was surgical in the Beckman case because he was drugged, but Grant wasn't for some reason, which explains the tearing. He obviously tried though.'

Mulder tried to hold onto his lunchtime muffin as he read about the extensive damage to the surrounding tissues, with several connecting blood vessels and a substantial portion of the peritoneum torn from the area.

She continued, 'I think that we're probably looking for someone who had access to Grant's keys. Maybe he even knew her or stalked her for a while before murdering her.'

Mulder shook his head, opening the last file containing the scene of crime reports. 'No, I think whoever it was came in through the vent in her bathroom. Here, look,' he said, passing her the black and white photograph of the grill in Grant's bathroom.

It must have been about ten by twelve inches, nowhere near wide enough to accommodate a man. Scully could see where he was going with this. 'Mulder, with all due respect, I think you're reaching. You came here with the suggestion of Tooms already implanted. Eugene Tooms is dead. I hope you're not thinking - '

'That she was killed by Elvis? I'm not, of course I'm not,' he interrupted. 'We both saw him, the guy was shredded salad by the time they dug him out of the escalator motor. What I'm thinking is exactly what I told Ford today, that there is someone else out there with the same condition as Tooms.'

'The likelihood of that is pretty remote, Mulder. The fact that Tooms existed at all was a fluke. It's more likely to be some drug crazed kid with ambitions a little larger than his IQ. Did you even get a print from the air conditioning room? Or a match on the hair?'

'We're still waiting for the samples you took from the body to be matched to the hair follicle, and there wasn't actually a print on the grill…'

'Well, there you go, then.'

'But...if you'll let me finish, we went one better. They managed to pull a print from the metal casing just inside the vent. It was elongated, just like the one at the Beckman crime scene, and they both match each other although they haven't actually matched them to a suspect yet.'

Scully's eyes widened. 'Really? The two prints were identical?'

Mulder nodded slowly. He loved that look she got on her face when he'd surprised her.

'I suppose it must be the same guy then. Unless the killer is a maintenance guy whose print would have been there anyway. Does McTierney know all this yet?'

'Not the autopsy results yet, no. She interviewed Little and picked up the crime scene report from the forensic labs, then left for the day. Ford told her that he was giving you the files to review overnight and that she would have them first thing. I don't think she was too happy about it, but I guess she's glad for the input. It's entirely their case anyway, as long as they get credit for the result, I don't think they care. As for the print, I already thought of that. It's being checked tomorrow.'

'Does she know about Tooms?' Scully asked, finishing her coffee.

Mulder turned round to fluff up the pillows again. 'I...uh, I might have mentioned something to her, yeah.'

She smiled. 'And it went down really well, I take it?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'She wanted to know why Ford had asked for us specifically and what our fields were, so I told her about the previous case and its relevance to this one. I didn't tell her anymore than I told Ford. I mean, she does need to know what's going on. As I said, it is her case.'

'I know,' she said, 'I'm just not too sure what to make of her. She doesn't seem to take things very seriously and I was wondering what exactly you've told her about what we do.'

'You mean, what did I tell her about you?' Mulder closed the reports and put them back on the nightstand.

'No, that would be just a little egotistical, don't you think? I meant how much she knows about the Tooms case, so I don't say something I shouldn't in the meeting tomorrow.' She paused, curiosity peaked in spite of herself. 'Why, what did you tell her about me?'

He grinned as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed. 'Wouldn't you like to know?'

'Not really,' she said in a futile attempt at feigning disinterest.

'I told her how long we'd been partners, that you were a medical doctor, that you sometimes disagreed with me, that kind of thing.'

She spun to face him, '_Sometimes_? Ah well, there's an honest answer.'

'I think you'd get on quite well together. She doesn't believe a word I say either.'

'That's definitely exaggerating. Maybe I don't believe you when you tell me all those videos you keep in the bottom drawer are 'Time Life's Classic Touchdowns of the Superbowl'…'

'Those are highly professional pieces of journalism.'

'Yeah, right,' Scully smiled, 'I'll bet they are.'

'In any case, as stimulating a subject to talk about as you are, Scully, she was actually more interested in me. She thinks I'm a little insane, but then that's good. It's better than her thinking I lead a boring life living alone in my little apartment with just my fish for company.'

'But you do.'

'Maybe,' he said quickly, 'but that's not the point. Come on, Scully, we're in a foreign country! Let someone think I have some kind of life, will you?'

'And did you use your job as a pick-up again, or did you admit that you've been stuck with background checks for the last few months?'

'Scully,' he said, mockingly clutching his chest, 'that's my heart you're breaking. You think what I do isn't vitally important to the keeping of law and order in our fine country?'

'So did you?'

'No.'

'Mmm. Didn't think so.'

'Hey, I'm not lying here any longer listening to you run down my career,' he said, pushing himself up from the bed. 'What time is this meeting tomorrow?'

She shook her head as she laughed. 'Nine thirty. So make sure you're ready on time, okay?'

'I'll be here, pressed and dressed, but I've kind of forgotten my alarm clock, so could you...'

'I'll give you a call at about eight then. That should give you enough time to prepare yourself for meeting the exquisite Inspector McTierney again. You know something, maybe if Kersh was a little better looking you'd actually be on time for _his_ meetings and hand in reports when they're due. I'll have to have a word with him.'

'Agent Scully, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous,' he smiled, hand on the door.

'I'm sure you'd love to think so. Go on, get out of here.'

'You invited me in, remember?'

'Yeah, for coffee and you've had that, so go get some sleep.'

'Oh, by the way, Scully, I suggest you lose the cream moustache before tomorrow or you'll be the one making the lasting impression.'

She got up and went to the mirror, wondering how long she'd been sitting there with the foam from the coffee halfway up her face.

'Goddammit.'


	6. Chapter 6

I have a review! :-) Thanks for taking the time to leave your comments, razamataz63! It's good to know that there are people out there reading!

A longer update this one, sorry for the delay...been working on some new Fallout material. Great to be back in fanfic...I've missed it! Anywho...hope you enjoy! And reviews are always welcomed :-)

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD**

**SATURDAY, FEB 20 1999**

**9.30AM**

The conference room was decorated in much the same way as the rest of the station, but with much larger windows facilitating sweeping views over the city. Huge portrait photographs of past Commissioners lined the walls, along with a large brass plaque engraved with the names of fallen officers. An ominous, freshly shined blank section was ready at the bottom to commemorate future tragedies. Scully couldn't help feeling that such things were a temptation to fate, like the names destined to appear on that list were already doomed, possibly for some before they were even born. She hoped that her own name didn't end up on the similar board at the J Edgar Hoover building. Just a collection of letters, eroding and fading with time.

In the centre of the room stood a rectangular Formica table with twelve plastic chairs gathered around it. Seven places were set with blotters, notebooks and glasses to receive the water from the iced jug in the centre. A stenography machine and a slide projector completed the equipment necessary for the meeting.

'If you'd like to take a seat, we'll be ready to start in just a minute,' said Ford, showing them to their places at the table, then retreating down the corridor.

'I guess there has to be a first time for everything, Scully,' said Mulder as he pulled out a chair for Scully then seated himself.

'For what?'

'Us being on time for a meeting.'

'Excuse me? _Us_?'

'Sorry, I was trying to be gracious. You really ought to make more effort to be on time.'

She suppressed a smile and pulled out her case files and notes.

She was about to tell Mulder to try and keep a reign on his wit for the moment, when she heard more voices in the hall outside. Ford had returned with McTierney, a blonde woman, and two other men that Scully didn't recognize. He introduced the taller, younger man as John Brookes, a representative from Interpol. He shook Scully's hand firmly before sitting down. He said nothing and smiled even less which made his otherwise passably handsome features seem sharp and angular. His suit looked expensive, and he moved with an air of extreme superiority.

The middle aged man in the cheaper suit was William Conners, a local MP. His face was flushed and his hand damp as he greeted Scully. The upstairs climb probably proved a challenge to his physique. Still, he smiled and said, 'Glad to have you both with us,' as he wiped his brow, and out of the two men, she infinitely preferred him.

'Jenny, my personal assistant, will be taking the minutes for us today,' Ford introduced the blonde, 'and of course, you know Inspector McTierney who will be handling this case.'

'Good morning,' she smiled. Her eyes lingered on Mulder a second longer than seemed necessary before she took her seat. He returned it, and Scully felt herself take an involuntary breath. She had become used to neither of them being seriously involved, the stupid one-night with Ed Jerse notwithstanding, and the possibility that Mulder might want, even _need,_ a relationship seemed strange to her. She had given her life up for her work, and she didn't want anyone to threaten that. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, and she didn't want to think about it anymore, so she pushed it away and tried to concentrate on the proceedings instead.

'Please feel free to help yourselves to the water,' Ford said as he took the remaining seat. 'I'd like to firstly apologize to you all for bringing you in on a Saturday, but obviously we weren't expecting the events which presented themselves, and time seems to be vital here now.' His face was serious and businesslike, matching his tone. 'The purpose of this meeting is to bring you all up to date with what exactly has happened, to tell you what is being done and to decide on the next course of action. In essence, to try to assess whether or not this may a serial killer we are dealing with.'

'That's not a problem,' replied Conners, referring to their unscheduled meeting, 'I don't need to stress, though that we need to bring an end to this as quickly as possible before people begin to panic. It won't take the press long to link the two killings. They probably already have.'

'I doubt it on the strength of the information we have allowed to pass to them, but I understand your concerns, Mr Conners,' Ford answered, 'and let me assure you we are doing the very best we can. We have one of our best Inspectors in Miss McTierney here, and the assistance of the FBI was specially requested, Agents Mulder and Scully specifically because of their particular expertise.'

'You've seen murders like this before Agents Scully...and Muldrake was it?' Brookes didn't even try to disguise the fact that he hadn't been paying attention to the introductions. Typical of Government men; self-obsessed assholes.

'It's Mulder,' he politely corrected, to Scully's amusement, 'and yes, we have. A case from five years ago. I've brought some slides from that case to illustrate the type of MO and killer we may be looking at. Inspector McTierney has also included some shots from the two homicides here.'

Ford took the cue, switched on the projector and dimmed the lights with a panel built into the desk. McTierney went over to the screen, pushing her long brown hair behind her ears and began the commentary as the first slide appeared.

'This is the first victim, Henry Beckman. A forty one year old white male, married, no children, living on the edge of Finsbury Park. He worked for Access Computers Limited, a multinational based in Tokyo, but with two branches in Britain, one here in Westminster, the other in Edinburgh. He was found by his wife when she returned home from a stay with her mother on the morning of the 16th. This was what the killer had done to him.' She paused to let everyone who hadn't yet seen the photos time to absorb the full horror of what they were looking at. These shots were much clearer than the fuzzy faxes and in full living color, as she flicked through a series of slides taken from different angles, the shocking violence a slap in the face that sent a murmur around the room.

'The cause of death,' she continued, in her clipped, professional tone, 'was extensive blood loss due to the removal of his liver.'

'Jesus,' muttered Conners, absently running a meaty hand through his hair.

'We believe a knife was used, something with a small blade like maybe a scalpel or razor,' she continued. 'He was a practiced hand. Maybe someone within the medical profession or at least with a practical knowledge of human physiology, he knew exactly where to cut.'

She flicked to the next slide, a shot of Ellen Grant, introduced her, and then switched to her almost unidentifiable form lying sprawled across her bed.

'The wound here, as you can see, is basically the same, although this time he was less meticulous about properly severing veins, arteries - the abdomen was opened by hand and the organ itself literally ripped out. There are also more outward signs of violence and struggle here as you can see from the stab wounds, although there was no sexual assault.' She went on to explain the further details of Miss Grant's violent end.

'The MO's are different,' Brookes stated flatly. He spoke calmly and slowly, measuring each syllable as though it were gold, 'I have seen no real evidence that these two are connected. It may be a copycat killing.'

'I think we may have found the evidence that you've been looking for, Mr. Brookes,' said Mulder. 'Yesterday, Inspector McTierney and I found a hair in the air conditioning motor house on the roof of the Grant building. The follicle was still attached, and tests run yesterday gave us a DNA sample. That sample matched the blood from underneath Grant's fingernails.'

'That's still not proof of a link between the two cases.'

Mulder joined McTierney at the projector, lined up the slide he wanted and flicked it on. 'This fingerprint was pulled from the inside metal casing of the vent shaft on the roof, _behind _the grate,' he stated, adjusting the focus and glancing up to make sure everyone could see, especially Brookes. 'And this,' as the next one slid up, 'is the print taken from the window at the Beckman residence where traces of bile were also found. They match. That, Mr Brookes, is your evidence.'

Brookes was smiling; a cold, humorless gesture. 'You're not serious, surely? The technician who took that clearly made a mistake.'

'Forgive the ignorance, Agent Mulder, but why are they stretched like that?' Conners asked, ignoring Brookes.

'This is where I'd like to mention the case Agent Scully and I worked on in Baltimore, Maryland five years ago.' He proceeded to explain to everyone who didn't already know who Eugene Victor Tooms was, his abilities, his homicidal tendencies, and concluded that the evidence so far leaned towards someone else with the same condition committing the murders now. Again, he deliberately omitted the fact that Tooms was probably more than a hundred years old and didn't look a day over thirty.

A superior sneer crawled over Brookes face. 'These are all documented facts, are they?'

'Yes, they are,' said Scully. 'I am a medical doctor who was involved not only with the investigation of these cases, but also with the autopsies. I had doubts myself initially, but the evidence convinced me otherwise. As did personal experience of being attacked in my home by Tooms. As unlikely as it sounds, these cases here have more than just liver extractions in common with those in Baltimore; the prints, points of entry - '

'Plus there's the removal of personal objects from the crime scene. I noticed a patch on the dressing table mirror at Miss Grant's apartment where a photograph or picture used to be,' added Mulder, returning to his seat.

'I've spoken to Mrs Grant, Ellen's mother, this morning when she telephoned to ask about progress on the case,' said McTierney. 'I asked if her daughter kept a photograph or something else of that nature on her dressing table and she told me yes, that Ellen did have a small picture tucked in to the frame of the mirror. It was a shot of Ellen and her boyfriend, Mr. Little, taken on holiday two years ago. It was still there, as far as she could remember, when she called three days ago.'

Mulder wondered why she hadn't mentioned that she had spoken to Mrs Grant before. He had seen her in the corridor when they arrived this morning. He supposed it was a matter of her wanting some credit for noticing the photo was missing - it was her case after all. Still, it grated a little. Particularly as it wasn't the first time he'd been asked to help on a case and someone else had taken credit for his discoveries. If he was a career man, he probably would have let it bother him. As it was, he let it go.

'What was taken from the Beckman house?' asked Brookes.

'We're not sure yet. I was hoping that Agent Scully and myself could go over and take a look around today, possibly speak to Mrs Beckman if she feels up to it.'

'Yeah, we can do that,' smiled McTierney, with a glance at Mulder, then turned back to address the room. 'We're currently running the DNA samples and prints against Interpol's database to see if we can get a match on anyone, and we expect the results later this morning. We understand that time is essential, of course, and we are sensitive to the concerns of the people you represent, Mr Conners. Let me assure you that we will catch whoever did this.'

'I'm sure you will, Inspector,' Conners replied.

'There is a great need to keep the details that have been mentioned here today between ourselves, especially with respect to the classified cases presented by Special Agents Mulder and Scully. The press already knows more than they need to, and we don't want to clog up our switchboards and waste our time chasing hoax leads, or worse spurring some would-be star into copycat killings. So please, all details on this case are strictly on a need-to-know basis,' Ford tapped a stubby finger on the desk for emphasis.

'I don't think you need to point that out, Chief Superintendent. If the press gets to hear anything, I can assure you it won't be through me,' said Conners, resenting the inference.

'Nor me,' added Brookes, as monosyllabic as ever.

'Well, then, ladies and gentlemen, I believe this meeting is concluded. Thank you all for coming,' Ford said, raising the lights again.

Conners and Brookes exchanged parting words with each other and Ford, then went their separate ways. Jenny left soon afterwards.

'The keys to Mr Beckman's residence are being held by Property downstairs. Inspector McTierney can pick them up and will take you as soon as you're ready. I'd like to meet up again tomorrow morning for a progress report, in my office at the same time. So, best of luck to you,' said Ford, then left.

'So, I guess it's just us then,' said Mulder as McTierney came up beside him.

'I guess so,' she replied. 'We'd better make a start. It's quite a drive from here to Finsbury Park.'

_Wonderful_, thought Scully, suddenly feeling very homesick again.

It certainly was one hell of a drive. McTierney was right about the traffic. Not to mention that Scully had more than forty minutes of listening to some of the worst lines she had ever heard from Mulder. The guy was way out of practice. She cringed at the way he laughed at McTierney's jokes and kept glancing sideways at her. McTierney seemed attentive though, flashing eyelashes and giggling in the right places, so he must be doing something right. She was beginning to wish she'd walked instead.

Eventually, and not too soon, they pulled up outside the house. The Georgian style building had already been boarded up, draped with police tape, and bathed in flashing blue lights from their car like some grotesque mockery of a Christmas scene. It loomed over them, dark and forbidding as grey rain began to pour from a leaden sky over the dirty driveway and neglected garden. It looked as if the place had been abandoned for years, and was truly a reflection of the horror that had passed inside. They huddled together under a large umbrella and hurried toward the relative shelter of an overhanging porch while McTierney fought in her pocket for the keys. Failing to find them, she opted to take the agents around back first, to show them where the print had been recovered. The window was about head height, and was certainly far too small for anyone to fit through.

'This is the first rain we've had for a while. It's been pretty cold too, so the ground was too hard for footprints,' McTierney informed them.

The wind started to whip the rain under the umbrella and down Scully's neck, sending its ice-cold fingers down her spine. 'Any chance of going in now?' she said, irritated.

McTierney finally realized the keys must have fallen out in the car, and took several minutes to find them again while Scully grew even more short-tempered. Eventually, she returned, sliced through the tape barring the door, and went in. The metallic scent of spilt blood hung in the air like a shroud which weighed heavily on them all. Scully wandered through the hallway towards the kitchen, shoulders hunched against the chill the rain had given her, whilst McTierney showed Mulder upstairs. The boards meant to discourage prying eyes and morbid thrill seekers also restricted the light down to two stained glass panels on either side of the front door. She could also see no colors, patterns or other details in any of the rooms; they were all silhouetted, depressingly grey.

The kitchen was larger than she had expected and was styled more like the traditional country images of England that Scully was used to. Dark oak cupboards, saucepans hanging from a rack on the ceiling, landscape paintings, and an old Welsh dresser holding a collection of blue crockery and a glass vase filled with long dead flowers that filled the kitchen were a terrible stench of decay. She wondered if Henry Beckman had bought them for his wife before he had been so cruelly taken from her, or whether she'd bought them for herself - something to cheer a place that would never hold joy for her again.

She could see the window more clearly from here, still coated in the shimmering silver dust from the forensic team. No other prints had been found other than that imprinted in bile on the ledge. As unbelievable as it was, the killer must have come in this way, judging from the angle and placing of the print, although no evidence remained to ascertain if he had also left that way.

Finding nothing else of interest, she followed McTierney and Mulder upstairs. At least they'd managed to find a light in this dreary place; it slanted across the hall from the master bedroom. The bed had been stripped, all sheets taken for forensic examination, and the mattress still had an ugly, dark bloodstain towards the centre back. A bookcase stood between the window and the bed, filled with volumes of science fiction, travel, home-making and cookery. Scully looked over the closely packed volumes, looking for signs that they had been moved, and found none.

Mulder was over at Mrs Beckman's dressing table. Scully watched him run his hands around the mirror, and curse when he found nothing.

'Didn't think you'd get that lucky again, did you Mulder?'

'Luck has nothing to do with it,' he replied as he continued his search in the jewelery box.

'Agent Mulder, here, look,' said McTierney as she pulled out a blue trench coat from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. She grabbed both sleeves and held them up for him. 'A cufflink is missing.'

Scully came over and looked at the cufflink that was still attached. '_HB_,' she read. 'Did you touch the wardrobe door when you opened it?'

She straightened up, meeting Scully's eyes. 'No, it was ajar; I just pushed it open with my foot. Anyway, the guys have already been here and dusted, they didn't find anything.'

'I can see that. Ergo, if you're inferring that the killer took it, then he must have worn gloves. There were no prints on the wardrobe or anywhere else in the house other than on the window. Why would he bother to wear gloves up here when he must have realized he'd already left a print?' Her eyes were hard, tone condescending and sharp. Mulder stopped what he was doing and turned to Scully in surprise.

'I don't know…I - '

'No, and in all likelihood he lost that cuff on the train home, so if I were you, I'd keep looking.'

Stung, but trying hard not to show it, McTierney started to put the coat away before Mulder stopped her with a hand on her arm. 'Don't take it personally. She's a little jetlagged,' he whispered with a smile. She smiled appreciatively, and laid the coat back on the bed.

Half an hour later, and with no other leads forthcoming, they left the house with the coat in a plastic evidence bag for forensic examination, and proceeded on to Mrs Beckman's mother's house at Beresford Road in Highbury. An uncomfortable silence fell as they drove. Scully was feeling a prickle of guilt for snapping at McTierney when she probably had been right about the cufflink. She wished she knew why she was feeling so irritable, but every time she tried to consider it, she just felt even more tired and irritable. And she had a headache. It wasn't helping either that Mulder had more or less ignored her since they'd left the house. She continued to feel sorry for herself until they arrived, twenty minutes later, at the block of flats where Mrs Nayes, Catherine Beckman's mother lived. As she trundled up the gravel path to the downstairs apartment, Mulder and McTierney had already been buzzed in and were tapping the door when Scully caught up to them.

A slight, elderly lady answered the door in a black buttoned-through sweater and skirt.

'Can I help you?' she asked without a smile, pulling off her glasses.

'Hello, I'm Inspector McTierney, we spoke on the telephone yesterday, Mrs Nayes?'

'Oh yes, I'm sorry,' her face softened. 'I wasn't expecting you until later this afternoon.'

'If this isn't a good time, we can - '

'No, no, that's fine really. Come in,' she said, standing aside.

They filed in past her as she closed the door. 'These are Special Agents Mulder and Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, from Washington. They're helping us with the investigation into your son-in-law's death.'

'I'm very pleased to meet you. Go on through, my daughter is in the living room.'

McTierney opened the door onto a very small, darkened room that smelled of roast lamb and mint. The sofa was a deep brown to match the carpet, both of which had seen better days. In the hard-backed, worn chair next to the fireplace sat Mrs. Beckman. She resembled her mother in stature, small and delicate, with ash-blonde hair swept away from her face in a clip. She wore no make-up, and her eyes were swollen and red. Like her mother, she wore black. She glanced up as they entered and reached for the remote to turn down the volume on the TV set.

'Cathy, it's the police again. I'll leave you to it then, I'll be upstairs if you need anything.' She gently closed the door behind her.

'Good morning, Mrs. Beckman,' said Mulder as he sat down in an armchair beneath the window and introduced himself and Scully. 'I'm so very sorry about your husband, and I'd like to assure you that the police have specially requested our presence on this case because they are determined to catch whoever did this.'

Her eyes met his, shimmering in the poor light, then returned to her hands still clutching the remote. 'London is a little out of your jurisdiction, isn't it?,' she said, her voice tremulous.

'The Bureau often co-ordinates with law enforcement agencies from all over the world, particularly when we have experience with certain types of crime. Agent Scully specializes in Forensic Pathology, and I am a behavioral profiler. Chief Superintendent Ford thought our input would be helpful.'

She sniffed. 'Well, I'm pleased that so much is being done. So often you hear of cases being dropped or the…bastards who do these things…going free.'

Mulder nodded. He'd had more experience than most with that - you rarely get to file charges that stick with mutants, aliens and flukeworms. But then again, with most lawyers getting paid more than the police, FBI, CIA, DEA and every other law enforcement organization he could think of, they had more lucrative motivations to work hard at making sure their clients were coated with Teflon.

'Mrs Beckman, we need your help on a few things. I know you're still very upset, and if you don't feel ready yet, we can come back some other time.'

'No,' she sighed, inwardly shaking herself, 'I'd rather get this over with now, while things are still fresh. I have such a lot to get through his week, with the funeral…and everything…' She trailed off, wiping her eyes.

Scully and McTierney sat down on either side of the sofa, the latter moving as far away from Scully as she could get without actually leaving the chair.

'The morning after your husband died, what time did you return home from your mother's?' McTierney asked, pulling out her notebook.

'It was around quarter past eleven. I only know because I'd been listening to the radio in the car on the way over. The news was on…comes on every quarter of an hour…the updates, you know.' She looked up and smiled sadly. 'All that's happened, and I can still remember the time. It's funny, isn't it? What sticks in your mind…' Her voice trailed away.

'And did you notice anything odd or unusual? Like maybe ornaments or furniture moved, pictures lopsided, doors left open, that kind of thing?'

'No...I don't think so,' she frowned. 'The kitchen window was open, but Henry may have done that when he came home. The dish draining rack was the wrong way around to where I usually have it…I'm sorry,' she muttered, shaking her head, 'I didn't really notice. I was too concerned with Henry, he wasn't answering when I called him and he should have been home, then I went upstairs and saw...him...' she started to sob, turning her face toward the fireplace.

'It's alright, Mrs Beckman, we understand, take your time,' said Scully softly, remembering when her sister was murdered and the endless string of interrogations that followed when you were torn between wanting to help and just wanting to be left alone.

She sighed deeply, trying to compose herself and continued. 'I just remember screaming for my mother to call for an ambulance, and her footsteps on the stairs. The next thing I knew, I was in hospital trying to figure out what had happened.'

'Have you been back to the house at all since that day?' asked McTierney.

'Only once, to let some officers in to dust for fingerprints or something like that…the day before yesterday. My mother had to come with me; I just couldn't face going in there alone. I've given the keys to the police now. I don't ever want to go back in that house again.'

'No, of course. We understand. Did you touch or move anything while you were there?'

Her eyes were frightened, as if something she'd done may have impeded their work. 'No, no they told me not to. All I did was pick up Henry's coat from the back of the chair and put it back in the wardrobe, just like I always did for him. He has…_had_…a habit of leaving it there when he came in from work. He'd lost one of the cufflinks,' she said dreamily, no longer with them in the room but in some place in the past that brought tears to her eyes.

'A cufflink? What did it look like?' asked Mulder.

'I'm sorry? Oh, right...er...they were gold with a green stone and had his initials on them. They were supposed to have some new safety catches, but they couldn't have been that good.'

'Had he ever lost them before?' Mulder persisted.

'No, not that he told me, anyway.'

'If it turns up, it's very important that you give us a call,' said McTierney. 'You have my number, don't you?'

Her brow furrowed. 'I don't understand, why are you so concerned about his cufflink?'

Mulder explained to her that there had been a second murder where something had been taken from the scene, and that it was possible that the killer had taken them.

'Oh. I see,' she replied, her attention returning to her hands. 'If I come across it, but I'm sure it could have been lost anywhere.'

'Thank you. I should tell you that we also have recovered some DNA evidence and fingerprints from your kitchen window and from the second murder scene, which are being processed right now. It's looking good so far, so don't worry. We're going to catch the monster who did this,' McTierney said with a reassuring smile. 'Before we go, is there anything else you'd like to tell us?'

'No, I don't think so. I'm afraid I don't remember much about the whole thing. Maybe it's just as well. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you.'

'You've been great, Mrs Beckman,' said Scully with sympathy as she stood to leave, 'especially at such a difficult time.'

She waved a hand dismissively. 'If you need anything else, please just give me a call. My mother will show you out.'

They had just entered the hall when Mrs Nayes came down the stairs. 'All finished, Inspector?'

'For now, yes, thanks again for both your time,' replied McTierney.

As the door closed behind them and they made their way back to McTierney's blue Mondeo, Scully pointed out again that the missing cufflink didn't necessarily mean anything. As Mrs Beckman had said, he could have lost it anywhere. 'I wouldn't go getting her hopes up just yet either.'

'I didn't know I was,' said McTierney. She'd had time to prepare for Scully's acidity this time. 'But the cufflinks did have safety clasps, and were in the direct path of the killer on his way from the kitchen to the bedroom. The photograph missing at the Grant flat too is a little more than a coincidence.'

'He must have entered through the window, the drainer had been moved. The coat _was_ an obvious choice for the killer looking for a memento, Scully,' agreed Mulder.

'We're no closer to anyone yet though. No suspects, no weapon, no motive, no connection between the victims. You shouldn't encourage people like that. We may never find the killer, and in my experience telling the victim's family that we're close does more harm than good,' said Scully as she slammed the car door, again thinking of her sister. And Emily.

'My, aren't we the little ray of sunshine today? What's wrong with a little hope if it gets people through the day?' McTierney glared at Scully's reflection in the rear view mirror.

Mulder said nothing in her defense, which annoyed her a little, and just stared out the side window. She couldn't be sure if he was smiling or not.

Scully couldn't be bothered to answer her anyway. She hated this case, hated being so far from home and familiar things to bring her comfort when she'd had a hard day, hated the way she was feeling at the moment. So she sulked quietly in the back of the car, and hated herself even more for behaving so childishly. Two people were dead and all she could think about was how irritated she was and how much she disliked McTierney. _Ridiculous_…why? Because she'd made a suggestion that might be right? Or because Mulder seemed to be more on her side than on her own? Yes…that felt right. She felt…isolated. Alone. _Betrayed. _

Ten minutes away from the station, McTierney's cell phone rang. Keeping her left hand on the wheel, she pulled the phone from her pocket then tossed it to Mulder. 'Because it's illegal to talk and drive. Just press that green button, there.'

'This is Agent Mulder. No, Inspector McTierney can't talk right now. Really? That's great. Yeah, okay. Five minutes or so I think. Okay, Goodbye.'

'Who was that?' asked McTierney.

'CS Ford,' Mulder replied. 'The DNA results are back. He said they show up something a little unexpected and he'd like us to go back straight away. He wouldn't tell me over the phone.'

'Sounds promising. Let's hope it's the break we need.'

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD**

**INSPECTOR FORDS OFFICE**

**16.45PM**

Brookes was already seated with Ford at his desk when they arrived. Ford's face looked grim as he tapped his fingers on top of a manila file on the desk.

'I'm not sure what to make of these results, but I am assured by the crime lab that they were run twice through both their computer databases and those at Interpol. Agent Scully, I suppose you would understand these best.' He pushed the blue tabbed folder across to her.

She took it and opened the cover to find the evidence claim form, then a few clear, plastic sheets with black dashes; the PCR results on the sample from the hair in the air conditioning room, then that from the blood underneath Grant's fingerprints. It was just a preliminary, but so far they appeared to match. The test on the bile at the Beckman residence was shown to be from Henry Beckman; not a great revelation. Copies of the fingerprints from both scenes were also included, along with more evidence claim forms, photographs _in situ_ and most interestingly of all, the Interpol report on the person the fingerprints belonged to.

_Eugene Victor Tooms_.

She swallowed thickly and could feel Mulder's eyes on her. _No, it's not possible. _

She took a breath and continued reading.

Further tests had been run on the DNA to establish a match with Tooms on blood samples taken from him while he was in custody at the sanatorium in Baltimore. They also matched those from both crime scenes.

Goosebumps broke out along her arms as she remembered when Tooms had attacked her at home; his cold, clammy hands gripping her skin, holding her back as she desperately fought against his impossible strong arms. She shuddered. An affinity with Grant, realizing how terrified she must have been, suddenly overwhelmed her.

'I don't know what to say, sir. The results speak for themselves. I wish I could say that I thought there was some kind of mistake, but not when so many different factors are involved. But it can't be: Tooms is dead.' Her thoughts raced, wondering what Kersh was up to, as she tried to digest the impossible facts that were in those files. 'Who did you contact at Bureau, sir?' she asked Ford.

'Me, Agent Scully,' answered Brookes.

'No, I mean to get this rap sheet and the case file information. Who in the US? Was it AD Kersh?'

'I didn't speak to anyone. Those files are in Interpol's database, we don't need to contact anyone,' answered Brookes.

She shook her head, something wasn't right. 'But they are classified, the details here…_we_ weren't even authorized to release them.'

'They can't be, Scully. There they are.'

'But Tooms is dead, we both saw him,' she said, desperately seeking an explanation from Mulder.

Mulder wasn't saying a whole lot, but the same thoughts were running through his mind. Was this all a huge conspiracy to finally discredit them and force them to resign? Had someone changed the reports of the prints? And if so, why? Had Kersh known all along that he was sending them on a case where the prime suspect had already been dead for five years? He aired none of them, otherwise he really would be kicked back to Washington.

'Yes, we did, and unless he can regenerate or otherwise have survived being pulled through the mechanisms of an escalator, then there has to be another explanation.'

'Hang on a second, I don't know a lot about DNA, but if the samples found match this Tooms, then isn't that pretty conclusive?' asked McTierney.

'Normally, yes, but in this case…I don't know. Is it possible that the samples were changed somewhere? Did someone mix up the fingerprints from the files we brought with those lifted?' Scully asked Ford.

'No, I took those samples to the lab myself yesterday and handed them directly to the Chief Tech, his team performed the tests themselves. You can check with him if you like,' Ford offered, more as a statement of defense than an invitation. Is she _had_ checked, she had the feeling that would be the end for her attempts at nurturing cross-jurisdictional relationships.

Scully sighed, not knowing where to go from here. Suddenly, a possibility occurred to her. 'You know, there is another explanation for the results. The DNA still shouldn't be exactly the same, and further testing could show that if we looked at more points, it may also explain the fingerprints, even the murders themselves. Maybe Tooms had a sibling,' she offered to somber, but curious faces around her as they considered the suggestion.

'A _brother_? But in the records it stated he was an only child -' started McTierney.

'Actually there isn't a great deal known about Tooms' history. He just seemed to appear with the first murders and he was never what you would call co-operative on that front when he was arrested,' said Mulder. He was surprised he hadn't thought of it before himself, but now the seed had been planted, it grew.

'So it's at least _possible_ that Tooms had a brother?' Ford asked.

'Yes, sir, it is possible,' Scully admitted. 'But to explain the similarities in the fingerprints and DNA, he would have to be a twin.'

'Oh my God,' exhaled McTierney.

Brookes just stared blankly out the window, showing no discernible reaction to the development.

'What sort of age are we looking at? I mean, how old would Tooms be now?' Ford asked incredulously.

'We never established exactly, but he appeared to be in his early thirties,' Mulder said, not being totally untruthful, but he hoped no-one pushed the issue.

'I think some consultation is needed with your people at home, Agent Mulder. We need to establish first of all if Tooms did have a brother, and if so, where he is now. I also think we should look a little closer at those DNA results for any of the possible differences that you mentioned, Agent Scully.'

'And what would you like me to do, sir?' asked McTierney.

'I think you need to get some officers to canvass around the areas of both murders, ask people if they saw or heard anything strange on the day and if they have seen anyone hanging around both before and after the murders. Show them Tooms' photo. Perhaps you could arrange an appeal for information, but I don't want any details given out or any reference made to a possible link between the two murders publically. Not yet.'

'Yes, sir, I'm sure I can arrange that.'

'Mr Brookes, do you have anything further to add?'

'Not at the moment. I'd like to be kept informed though,' he said.

'Alright, well that's just about all for now. I'll be leaving early tonight, my granddaughter has a birthday party, so if there are any further developments or you need anything, you may contact me at home.'

The agents followed Brookes out to the car park, said goodbye, and climbed into their car.

'It will be – 'Mulder checked his watch, ' - around twelve in Washington. Do you want to get something to eat first, or make like ET and _phone home_,' he joked, finger outstretched.

Scully sighed, rubbing the back of her neck to disperse the tension there. She felt dirty, tired, and was still a little jetlagged. She didn't want to do either. All she wanted was a hot bath, maybe a shot of bourbon if she was lucky, and an early night. 'Why didn't you call from Ford's office, Mulder?'

'Because I thought it was better for us to leave while McTierney still has a full set of teeth.'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

'It's pretty obvious you have a bug up your ass about her. What's the problem?'

'Nothing specific. I don't much like her _don't-give-a-shit_ attitude.'

'She's young, Scully. She's still learning, and she hasn't had to handle a case like this before. It wasn't a bad idea about the cufflink, there's no reason to chew her out about it. Cut her come slack, okay?'

Scully bore the criticism well, really. She knew she deserved it, and tried to fight back the bubble in her throat.

'Well…I guess maybe we could order some room service and use the hotel phone.'

'Okay, that sounds pretty good. Quiet night in it is, then.' Mulder switched on the headlights and pulled out into slow moving mud-flow of the ill-fittingly named rush hour traffic.

The retreating lights of the agent's rental car reflected in the puddles of the pitted car park made them seem like deep pools of blood in the failing light of dusk. The curling wisps of smoke around the old man's head as he stood amongst the blood-pools made him seem an even more unbelievable figure, like a demon from a nightmare, watching the car disappear into the distance. His own transport, a silver-grey Mondeo, waited behind him with its engine idling.

The younger man listened to the crunching gravel under his feet as he approached the older figure with the shadow-filled eyes as dark as his suit.

'They are getting close, sir. I couldn't get at the samples to change them. They have the DNA.'

The smoking man remained silent, raised the cigarette to his dry, cracked lips and inhaled deeply, the smoke billowing into the dark, cold air.

'They're going to contact Kersh tomorrow. Does he know?' The younger man's voice was tinged with panic. He wiped his damp palms against his pants and hoped there would be no retribution for his failure.

The smoking man turned the cigarette between his fingers, never lifting his eyes from it. 'Kersh knows only what he is told. They don't trust him, they'll go to Skinner. He's the problem. He's uncontrollable, since Krycek stole the device. He goes his own way.'

'You haven't recovered the device yet?'

He looked straight at him; _through_ him. 'Not yet. We were successful in enticing him to New York. The sniper hit him and he fell into the Hudson, but we have not found the body. It's possible he survived.'

'_Jesus_. But what if they find the truth here? Now? If they find _him_? Do you know where he is?'

He discarded the cigarette, ground it beneath his foot and lit another with cupped hands and taking a long breath, allowing the nicotine to trickle into his bloodstream.

'They were all creatures of habit. This one is no different. You have to find him first. It is imperative that the project remains undiscovered. We cannot allow that to happen. It may already be too late.'

'You're sure he's the last one?'

'Of course.'

'And when I find him?'

'Destroy all evidence. You know what to do. I'm trusting you. I have enough to be concerned with trying to trace Krycek now. If he did survive he will be very angry, and there is no telling the damage he could do.'

'Yes, sir.'

Exhaling another mushroom of smoke and flicking the half-smoked butt away in a burst of orange sparks, the smoking man turned and walked to his waiting car. The engine revved, sending up more clouds of fumes, then pulled off in a shower of gravel with its smoked windows and fake plates, merging and being lost in the throng of rush hour traffic, leaving the other man alone in the cold, silent, empty lot.


	7. Chapter 7

**BELSIZE PARK HOTEL**

**CENTRAL LONDON**

**17:28PM**

'So, your place or mine, Scully?'

'How about mine, you stand a better chance of being able to sit down somewhere.'

Mulder started to protest then realized she was right. 'Yeah, okay. I'll be over a couple of minutes.'

She poured herself a glass of water then went to her closet to find something a little less restrictive than her suit. Opening the sliding doors, she sighed at her lack of foresight when packing. All she'd brought other than the same jeans and top she'd worn yesterday were some sweats for a jog in the mornings, and she couldn't wear them. Not unless she was prepared to put up with a barrage of abuse from Mulder. The move to background checks meant her long working hours had been drastically cut so she had no excuse not to try and expand her wardrobe from the racks of jackets and skirts. She resolved to do some shopping when she got home. She decided on the jeans again and had just finished changing when she heard a knock on her door. Mulder obviously had planned a little better than her. He was wearing new dark jeans and a grey t-shirt.

'Hi, come in,' she said. 'Room service menu is by the phone if you want to order dinner.'

He chose the bed by the door and fell back onto it, stretched and yawned. 'God, I'm so tired. Jetlag is killing me. And I just love these beds. I never thought anyone would ever get me off my couch, but I'm seriously considering one of those adjustable mattress things, you know.'

'Mulder, I've told you before that you shouldn't fall asleep listening to informercials. They're probably full of subliminals or something. You'll be telling me soon that ThumbWaiters are a good idea.'

'And they call me paranoid,' he muttered with an appreciative smile before reaching for the menu.

'Would madam like the salmon this evening? I do believe it was caught fresh from the highlands this morning.'

'I wouldn't like to explain fresh salmon ordered on room service to the expense department, Mulder,' she replied. 'Let's just stick to sandwiches and sodas - I'll have cheese salad and diet coke.'

'Wow, feeling adventurous tonight then, Scully. I guess it's cheese salad for me too,' he said.

While he placed their order, she sat down on the edge of his bed.

'It'll be here in twenty minutes.'

'Great. So are you going to speak to Kersh about this? Try to find out if there is something going on?'

'No, I don't think so. He'll probably send us two return tickets for our trouble. We didn't exactly part on good terms.'

She sighed and rolled her eyes. 'What did you do this time, Mulder?'

'Nothing,' he protested. 'He just pulled me into line a little before we left and I sort of told him where to go.'

She said nothing. Just stared at him.

'Alright, okay, maybe not in those exact words, but he understood the sentiment. Anyway, I was thinking of Skinner as our best bet.'

'And what if our calls are being monitored and Kersh finds out you've contacted him?'

'I'll just tell him I needed information on a previous case we worked on while under Skinner. He is still SAIC of the X-Files project.'

'Okay, I guess it's the best we can do. Just be careful.'

'My middle name,' he said wryly. He reached for the phone again. Skinner answered after two rings.

'Hi, sir, it's Agent Mulder. I'm calling from London about a case we're currently working on and we need your help.'

'Then call your superior, AD Kersh. I shouldn't even be talking to you. Goodbye.'

'No, sir, wait just a minute, please. I realize that, but this is very important,' he pleaded as Scully watched, her eyes becoming concerned. 'Two people are already dead and there will probably be more.'

Silence. At least there wasn't the tell-tale click of a receiver being replaced. Then came a sigh.

'Mulder, I'm sorry, but you've already done a good job of tearing your own career apart. I'd rather you didn't take mine down too.'

'Sir, please, you're the only one we can trust.'

More sighing. And silence.

'Alright, Agent Mulder. Make it fast.'

Mulder gave him a brief overview of the two cases they were working on, the fingerprints, the DNA, and the connection to Tooms.

'Sir, we need you to fax us the death certificate and autopsy reports on Tooms, and to pull his file to see if he did have a brother. That isn't going to be easy, you'll have to look back to the turn of the century; probably 1903 or earlier, mainly in Baltimore county, but possibly further afield. I doubt he'd have travelled far. He needs his victims quickly, and wouldn't bother travelling to get them. We also have no reason to believe he used an alias, he was always too sure of himself, too confident in his ability to elude capture. Maybe there will be a record of his original application for 66 Exeter Street somewhere.'

'Didn't you look for those records when you were assigned to the case?'

'Yes, sir, but without any luck. We were looking in the wrong era.'

Skinner may have been, to all official eyes, a by-the-book agent, but he'd worked too long with Mulder and Scully on the X-Files to question some of the more outrageous aspects to the reports he'd read, as long as he didn't have to go on record as believing in them. He knew through his own experience that there were forces working against the two agents and that their being removed from the X-Files was part of a much bigger plan. He did what he could to support them within the realms of his position, but he had to watch his own back too. That had been proven recently after his brush with an unnatural and very mysterious death. Nevertheless, he also knew that he was one of the few people Mulder still trusted, and he respected that. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he liked his two best agents and, like Scully, wouldn't put himself on the line for anyone else.

'I'll do my best, Mulder, but I can't promise anything.'

'That's all we're asking, sir. I understand it will be difficult.'

'I'm glad you appreciate that. I'll try and get the information to you later today. If not, tomorrow.'

'Sir, if it's possible, please don't involve Agent Spender. He could make things difficult for all of us, especially if he thinks we're investigating a possible X-File.'

'I am aware of the conflicts between yourself and Agent Spender, Mulder.'

'Of course. I'm sorry, sir.'

'Do you have a fax number there?'

Mulder gave Skinner the details he needed and then hung up. Their room service had arrived while he'd been on the phone and he hadn't even noticed. Scully had moved back to her own bed and was finishing off her soda.

'Did he agree to help?'

'Yep,' he said as Scully handed his tray to him. 'He's going to fax us whatever he can find later today, his time, so we should have the information we need by tomorrow at the latest.'

'Great. What else did he say?'

'Other than agreeing to help us, just to watch our backs.'

'I don't think there's much more they can do to us, Mulder,' she muttered bitterly. 'Do you expect much from him?'

'I don't know. I hope so.'

'We didn't have much luck when we looked.' She tossed her empty cup into the trash-can by the desk.

'Nice shot, Scully. Maybe not, but like I told him, we weren't looking in the right places. Look, I'm sure he'll turn something up.' He was determined not to be defeated. 'Meantime, I think we should spend some time in the archives tomorrow to see if any similar crime has occurred before. Tooms attacked every thirty years, so we should assume the same here.'

'Never assume, Mulder. Ass out of U and ME, remember?'

'You being smart with me?' He eyed her over his dinner. He wasn't smiling.

'Okay, it's a reasonable assumption. There is one thing though that goes against the killer being Tooms, assuming that he survived that accident.'

'And what's that?'

'He killed five people every thirty years. He's already killed his quota for this period, so why would he come to England and kill again?'

'He wouldn't because he's dead. I don't think it's Tooms.'

'You're suddenly very sure of yourself. You once told me that every fingerprint is unique, even twins have different prints if you look at enough points.'

'You're the one who mentioned the twin theory, Scully. For once, I'm following you.'

She shrugged. 'It's pretty unlikely. I still think maybe someone is yanking your chain. Everything seems just too convenient. Those prints could have been doctored, replaced, whole reports falsified.'

'All just to discredit us? I don't think international exercises are needed, they could set us up at home. Why go to the trouble?' He shook his head. 'No, I think your theory is pretty good. For once.'

'_For once_? Well, thank you.'

'No problem. Anyway, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.'

'Yeah, I guess so.'

Mulder finished his sandwiches and leaned back into the pillow, yawning and closing his eyes.

'Hey,' she said, slapping at his ankles, 'don't you fall asleep in here, Mulder. If you're tired, get back to your own room.'

His eyes opened. 'Is everything alright? You've been weird all day.' He was serious now. Concern shone in his eyes.

'Sure,' she replied. 'Why wouldn't it be?'

'Oh come on, Scully. You've been argumentative, edgy, downright rude to McTierney and that's not like you. You seem a little tense, I suppose.'

'Do I? I'm sorry… It's just… I've had a long day and I probably need some sleep,' she said a little too forcefully.

He looked upset, like he'd done something or said something to her that bothered her, but he didn't understand what.

'You sure? There's nothing on your mind?'

_I want to go home. I want things to go back to the way they were._

_ I'm afraid…_

_ That things are changing… That _you_ are changing… That you want more, that you _need_ more than this… That you'll push them beyond breaking point, and then they'll break you…_

_ And then what the hell am I supposed to do?_

'No. I'm fine. Just tired.'

'Alright,' he whispered, a mixture of confusion and hurt in his eyes as he rose from the bed and headed for the door. He turned back to her before leaving. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

She didn't trust herself to speak, so just nodded.

His eyes remained on her for a second longer, then he left.

She had never felt so alone.

Having showered and changed, but still not feeling any better about herself, Scully climbed into bed and turned on the TV. She switched from a nature documentary to the news, then to cable. Finding nothing interesting enough to take her mind off the events of the day, she turned it off and eventually fell asleep. She slept deeply, dreaming nothing, until being woken by a deep, hollow thumping.

She felt like she'd only just fallen asleep. It took her a while to realize where she was, then it came again, accompanied by an urgent whisper.

'Scully? Scully! Wake up!'

'Mulder?' she called sleepily, fumbling for the light.

'Yes, it's me, open the door.'

She pulled herself out of bed, unlatched the chain on the door and regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes. 'Do you have any idea what goddamned time it is?'

He looked her up and down in her bedraggled state, clad only in a thin night-shirt and smiled.

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable and grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed.

'Just gone 3:30 am. There's been another one. A transient. In the city.'

'What, another liver extraction?' She tied her gown and folded her arms across her chest against the cold. Obviously the hotel didn't bother heating the corridors at this time of the night.

'The police are on the scene. They're saying it only happened an hour or two ago. McTierney would like us there right now.' He was on a high again, all trace of his earlier fatigue gone. He'd even had time for a shower - his hair was damp, his skin was still red from the heat, and he smelled of sandalwood and musk.

_Oh God…_

'Yeah…yeah, okay,' she said, exhausted already, 'give me a minute.' She disappeared into the bathroom to change.

A few moments later she appeared in the suit she'd worn yesterday, her hair just brushed and damp around the hairline from where she'd splashed cold water onto her face. Despite her efforts, her skin was dull and her eyelids heavy. She hated this case more with each breath, and wished desperately for her own bed back home and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. She thought she must have looked terrible, but was beyond really caring. She just hoped this would be worth it.

**ALLEY OFF RAMILLES PLACE,**

**SOHO**

**SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 21**

**4.17AM**

The streets of London were alive, even at this unearthly hour. But then, it was still officially a Saturday night. Gangs of drunken youths could be heard in the distance and the occasional couple passing by was politely, but firmly, moved along by the police standing at the end of the alleyway. The orange light from the nearby streetlamps, the forensic lights, and the strobing blue lights from the patrol cars made the scene feel like a set from a sci-fi film as steam drifted up from air conditioning vents and extractor fans hummed overhead.

The as-yet unidentified victim lay partly concealed by garbage bags beneath the sprawling metalwork of the fire escape at the back of the Oriental Garden Cantonese Restaurant. Forensic officers crawled over the place like ants, and the coroner and police photographer were already busy with the victim. McTierney was speaking to a waiter from the restaurant. He must have found the body, Scully thought, judging by his extremely distressed state.

She left Mulder with McTierney while she approached the medical examiner.

'Hi, I'm Special Agent Scully with the FBI. What have you got here?' Her breath cooled and condensed in the cold night air.

The coroner barely looked up. 'You have no jurisdiction here. You on holiday or something?'

She steeled herself for a fight that she had no wish to pursue at this time of night. She pictured her bed again, soft and warm.

_Alone_.

'No, sir. We are involved with the case by request of Chief Superintendent Ford of Scotland Yard.'

He finally stopped scribbling notes onto his pad and raised his head. He was much younger than she'd first thought, probably in his mid thirties, with clear green eyes. Attractive in a bookish sort of way. 'I'm sorry, Agent _Scully_, was it?'

She nodded.

'Well, his liver is missing. Torn out with bare hands, by the look of it. There are some marks on the exposed lower diaphragm that might be significant, but I'll know more after the autopsy.'

'Any signs of a struggle?'

'None that I can see. Maybe he passed out drunk. He stinks of whisky.'

She crouched down and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Her fingers were uncooperative, freezing and numb.

'Do you have a penlight?'

'Sure,' he replied, taking one from his medical bag.

Twisting it to switch it on, she gently opened the man's eyelids. The pupils were fully dilated, a pretty good indication that he was either drunk or stoned when he died, but they were equal, so brain injury was unlikely. She continued to pass the light over his ashen face, cracked, parted lips and dark, dirty beard. It was difficult to assess age or injury under all that grime, thick multi-layered clothing and dark blue overcoat, now shredded from the chest down revealing a huge, ugly hole in his abdomen. Blood, dark and glistening in the artificial lights, soaked through his clothes and pooled beneath him.

'Will you be performing the autopsy, Doctor…'

'Isaacs. Yes, tomorrow.'

'Would you mind if I was there to observe? I am a qualified forensic pathologist.'

'I don't see a problem, provided you complete a little paperwork for us.'

'Sure. Have you ever seen anything like this before?'

'Yes, I worked on the other two murders. Lucky me.'

She smiled, despite herself. 'That's good. We're looking into a potential serial killer, so we need to establish if there is a link between this and the other two murders, which is why I'd like to attend tomorrow.'

'Sure, I understand. I'll probably start in the afternoon, let's say around 2.30?' he said as his van arrived to pick up the body.

'I'm not sure where your offices are, Doctor.'

He pulled his card from his pocket and gave it to her.

'Thank you.'

'Yeah,' he returned her smile. 'Inspector McTierney will probably be wanting to come too, so maybe she can drive you. I'll see you tomorrow then. Pleased to meet you, Agent Scully.' The gurney with its grim cargo clattered into the van followed by Doctor Isaacs. Curious passers-by moved aside for it as it trundled away, before returning to jostle with the police officers and blue incident tape.

'Is it the same?' asked McTierney, still managing to look great even though she'd probably been ripped from sleep too.

Scully pulled off her gloves and absently ran a hand through her hair.

'The injury is the same, but that's the only similarity at the moment. We'll have to wait for the autopsy reports. Doctor Isaacs has given permission for me to assist tomorrow. He says you'll want to go yourself, so maybe you can drive me. Around 2:30.'

'Sure, if you want. Listen, there's not much else you two can do here at the moment, so why don't you go get some sleep, have a lie in, and I'll see you at the station after lunch for that autopsy.' She was so sickeningly nice all the time, Scully was starting to feel guilty for disliking her as much as she did.

When McTierney had gone, they began the walk back to their car, pushing through the remaining people at the end of the alley. They had started to disperse now that the body had gone. They walked a while without talking, but it was an uncomfortable silence. Scully knew he had something he wanted to say.

'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure,' she muttered as loud groups of drunken kids pushed past them.

'What happened earlier?'

'What do you mean?'

'You seemed…I don't know. Upset, I guess. Was it me? Did I say or do something?'

She felt like a kid, her face hot even in the biting cold. 'No, Mulder. I'm just…I don't know. Homesick, I guess. Tired. Jetlagged. Wondering what the hell is going on here. It's making me…irritable, I guess. I'm sorry.'

'Why don't I believe you?'

She turned to him, met his eyes. 'Excuse me?'

Mulder stopped and stared at her. 'Okay. Fine. I guess I just thought we had a better relationship than that.'

'You're not my priest, Mulder. I don't need to confide or justify every single thought in my head to you.'

'Right. Okay… Well, forgive my intrusion then.'

He got into the car and they didn't speak again.

He hid in the shadows above them, silently watching the scene unfolding beneath him. He still shook with adrenaline, his back was soaked in sweat and his hands were sticky with blood. He could still taste his prize at the back of his throat, but this wasn't like the others. He couldn't wait for the drugs to work. The need had arisen from deep within his primitive genes, becoming overwhelming, all-consuming, the control in which he took such pride being lost to him. They had once warned him that to lose control was a sign of weakness, that if his will wasn't strong enough to fight the ravenous hunger for blood coursing through his soul then he would die. Like The Other had died. But The Other had been stupid. He wasn't stupid, and he would not allow his cravings to overtake him to that extent again. He had been sloppy, careless, and soon they would catch him.

Unless…

_Wait._

_No, it couldn't be. _

_It was._

Panic filled him, twisting in his stomach. _Both of them?_

_My God_.

No good saying that. God had no place for such an abomination in His world. He was forsaken, cast down. No God watched over him. He was the last of his kind; made of man, not God.

He couldn't remember their names.

_Why can't I remember their names_?

They were important, they alone had the power to stop him. They who knew what he truly was.

The woman was too weak to be of real concern to him, but the man - the man had stopped The Other taking what he had needed from…

_Scully_…

That was the woman's name, he thought triumphantly. He had trapped The Other in that machine, to suffer the torture of being pulled apart. For that he would suffer. What a fitting final prize before his slumber. Revenge would enable him to sleep soundly in the comforting, avenged embraces of those gone before.

_ Mulder._

Yes, he remembered now.

He continued to watch from his perch, high above the scene. Waiting.

_Patience_.

He must regain his control for Mulder. He wanted it to be slow, not like the last one to satisfy hunger. This one must be planned. Well. He would take him soon.

Take him and kill him.

_Slowly_.

_Soon_.


End file.
